LECTURES     ON     ART 


LECTURES     ON     ART 


DELIVERED 

BEFORE   THE 

UNIVERSITY     OF     OXFORD 

IN   HILARY  TERM,    1870 


JOHN     RUSKIN,     LL.D. 

HONORARY   STUDENT   OF   CHRIST  ^CHURCH,    AND    HONORARY    FELLOW 
OF   CORPUS   CHRISTI    COLLEGE.    OXFORD 


WITH   AN  INTRODUCTION  BY  CHARLES  ELIOT  NORTON 


BRANTWOOD   EDITION 


NEW  YORK: 

Maynard,    Merrill,   &    Co.,    Publishers, 

43,  45  &  47  East  Tenth  St. 

1893. 


«        >       » 


SPECIAL    ANNOUNCEMENT 

Mr.  George  Allen  begs  to  announce  that  Ruskin's  Works 
will  hereafter  be  published  in  America  by  Messrs.  Charles 
E.  Merrill  &  Co.,  of  New  York,  who  will  issue  the  only 
authorized  editions. 


Copyright  1890 
Charles  E.  Merrill  &  Co. 


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INTRODUCTION. 


WHEN  the  first  volume  of  Modern 
Painters  was  published  in  1843,  it 
appeared  without  the  author's  name.  The 
title-page  designated  the  book  as  "  By  a 
Graduate  of  Oxford,"  and  some  time  passed 
before  the  name  of  the  writer  became  known 
to  the  public.  It  was  not  without  pardon- 
able pride  that,  twenty-seven  years  later,  in 
his  Inaugural  Lecture  as  the  first  Professor 
of  Art  at  his  University,  Mr.  Ruskin  referred 
to  the  work  of  his  youth,  fancying  that  some 
among  his  audience  might  recognise  him  by 
an  old  name,  that  of  "  the  author  of  Modern 
Painters." 

It  was  altogether  becoming  that  he  who, 
of  all  the  graduates  of  Oxford,  had  done 
most  to  quicken  the  love  of  Art  in  England, 
and  to  illustrate  its  principles,  should  be  the 
first    chosen   to    speak,    in   the    name   of  the 


394783 


VI  INTRODUCTION. 

University,  on  the  study  of  the  Fine  Arts 
as  an  essential  part  of  education,  and  to 
assert  their  claims  to  be  an  indispensable 
means  for  the  training  of  the  highest  intel- 
lectual faculties  and  moral  qualities. 

The   present   volume    contains    the    seven 
Lectures  which  he  delivered  during  the  first 
term  of  his  Professorship  in  1870.     The  first 
four    of    them,    on    the    relation    of   Art    to 
society,   to   religion,    to   morals,    and    to   use, 
are    of  less   practical    interest    than   the    last 
three,  which,  limiting  themselves  to  painting, 
treat    specifically    of    line,  light,   and    colour. 
None  but  a  master  practised  in  the  art,  and 
with  extraordinary    gifts   of    perception    and 
expression,   could    have     written    these    last 
Lectures.      The   attention  of  the  student   is 
not     confined     to     technical     detail,    but    is 
directed   to  the  broader  aspects  of  the  sub- 
ject by  general  statements  in  regard  to  the 
practice  of  the  different  schools  of  painting. 
Some  of  these  statements  may  seem  to  require 
modification,   but  they   all  serve   to  illustrate 
leading  facts    and   principles,  and  to  quicken 
observation  and  reflection. 


INTRODUCTION.  Vll 

The  general  conception  of  the  Fine  Arts 
presented  in  the  opening  Lectures,  although 
interesting  and  suggestive,  seems  to  me  to 
be  impaired  by  some  vagueness  and  inade- 
quacy of  definition.  In  this  respect  Mr. 
Ruskin  is  not  singular  among  the  writers 
on  the  subject.  He  treats  the  Fine  Arts  as 
if  they  were  entities,  possessed  of  an  inde- 
pendent existence.  He  speaks  of  them  as 
"  having  for  their  object  either  the  support 
or  the  exaltation  of  human  life"  (p.  41);  as 
"  being  appointed  to  relate  truth "  (p.  43)  ; 
he  asserts  that  "they  can  have  but  three 
directions  of  purpose"  (p.  43);  he  says  that 
"  we  have  to  ask  how  far  art  may  have 
been  literally  directed  by  spiritual  powers " 
(p.  54) ;  and  that  "  art  makes  us  believe 
what  we  would  not  otherwise  have  believed  " 
(p.  61).  Such  assertions,  though  they  may  be 
modified  and  explained  as  largely  figurative 
modes  of  speech,  so  as  not  to  be  inconsistent 
with  correct  conceptions  of  the  Fine  Arts, 
seem  not  unlikely  to  lead  to  confusion  of 
thought  as  to  their  true  character. 

"  Painting,   or  art  [fine  art]   generally  .  .  . 


Vlll  INTRODUCTION. 

is   nothing   but   a   noble  and  expressive  lan- 
guage,"  Mr.   Ruskin  has  said   with  truth   in 
the     second     chapter     of    Modern     Painters. 
There  is,  indeed,  nothing   mystical  or  meta- 
physical in  the  Fine  Arts.     All  of  them  are 
simply  arts   of  expression,    and    every  mode 
of    expression,    if    directed    by    the    artistic 
method    to    giving    the    best    form    to    idea, 
sentiment,  or   emotion,   is  a   fine  art.     Their 
common  bond  is  the  aim,  by  means  of  this 
method,  at    perfection    of  expression,  in   the 
modes  appropriate  to  each.     From  the  Fine 
Art    of    manners    and    conduct    to    that    of 
architecture,    from    poetry    to    music    or    to 
painting,  from  dancing  to  oratory,  all  concur 
in   the   effort   of  the    intelligence   to  express 
itself  in   forms    of  beauty   adequate  to    con- 
vey   the    thought    or    feeling    that    seeks    for 
expression.       This    effort    can    be    achieved 
only    through     the    artistic    method,    or,    in 
other   words,  through    the    right    use    of  the 
means    and  material    of    expression    belong- 
ing    to    the    special    art.       And    this    right 
use    depends    on    the    poetic    power    of  the 
imagination.       For    it    is    this     power     that 


INTRODUCTION.  IX 

sees  and  determines  the  forms  of  beauty 
which  are  the  ends  of  the  Fine  Arts, 
and  directs  the  intelligence  in  the  attainment 
of  that  technical  mastery  which  controls  the 
.  resources  of  expression  appropriate  to  each 
special  art. 

Thus,  in  the  Fine  Arts  the  method  is 
the  essential  thing,  the  thing  expressed  is 
secondary.  And  herein  lies  the  distinction 
between  art  and  morals,  for  in  morals  it  is 
the  thing  done  that  is  essential,  and  the 
method  of  doing  it  is  secondary. 

Different  as  they  are  in  this  respect,  there 
is  still  an  indissoluble  connection  between 
the  Fine  Arts  and  morals.  All  the  intel- 
lectual faculties,  including  the  imagination, 
draw  their  motive  force  and  take  the  direc- 
tion of  their  use,  unconsciously  it  may  be, 
but  yet  of  necessity,  from  the  moral  cha- 
racter. And  the  artistic  method,  even  in  its 
technical  execution,  partakes  of  and  reveals 
the  moral  nature  of  the  artist.  The  Fine 
Arts,  therefore,  if  their  work  be  correctly 
interpreted,  arc  the  most  faithful  and  literal, 
because     the     unconscious    and     involuntary 


X  INTRODUCTION. 

exponents  of  the  ethical,  no  less  than  of 
the  intellectual,  conditions  and  character  of 
those  by  whom  they  are  practised.  They 
are  the  ultimate  expressions  of  the  mental 
state  of  individuals  and  of  nations. 

The  significance  of  this  truth  has  not  yet 
been  fully  recognised.  Historians  have  failed 
to  apply  it  to  the  elucidation  and  interpreta- 
tion of  the  past  experiences  and  conditions 
of  man,  while  the  votaries  of  art  for  art's 
sake  lose  sight  of  the  most  intimate  and 
exquisite  quality  of  art,  neglecting  a  corre- 
lation no  less  close  and  indissoluble  than 
that  of  the  physical  forces  of  the  universe. 

Mr.  Ruskin's  work,  as  Professor  of  Art  at 
Oxford,  was  not  limited  to  the  delivery  of 
lectures.  He  established  a  Drawing  School; 
he  gave  to  the  University  an  invaluable  col- 
lection of  engravings,  drawings,  and  paint- 
ings, arranged  for  study  in  the  University 
galleries;  and  he  prepared  and  published  full 
Catalogues  of  this  collection  under  the  heads 
of  the  Standard  or  Reference,  the  Educa- 
tional,   and    the    Rudimentary    Series.       He 


INTRODUCTION.  XI 

also  supplemented  these  Catalogues  with 
"Instructions  in  Elementary  Drawing"  with 
relation  to  the  use  of  the  Rudimentary  Series. 
These  Catalogues  and  Instructions  are  of 
great  interest,  and  contain  much  admirable 
and  important  criticism  and  teaching,  of 
worth  not  only  to  students  at  Oxford,  but 
to  those  elsewhere  who  may  desire  to  im- 
prove themselves  by  learning  what  examples 
the  most  accomplished  master  of  the  time 
thought  best  deserving  of  the  attention  of 
beginners  in  the  practical  study  of  the  Arts, 
and  what  elementary  instruction  he  esteemed 
most  desirable  for  them.  The  Catalogues 
can  hardly  be  too  highly  recommended  as 
guides  in  the  formation  of  useful  collections 
of  exemplary  work  ;  for,  although  it  would 
be  impossible  to  duplicate  a  large  portion  of 
the  pieces  described  in  them,  as,  for  instance, 
the  great  number  of  original  drawings  by 
Turner,  by  Mr.  Ruskin  himself,  and  other 
great  masters,  yet  a  considerable  number 
remain  which  might  be  duplicated,  and  would 
serve  as  a  nucleus,  and  as  a  standard  by  which 
the  worth  of  additions  could  be  measured. 


Xll  INTRODUCTION. 

These  collections  are  one  of  the  most 
important  gifts  ever  made  by  an  individual 
to  the  University,  and,  rich  as  Oxford  is, 
form  one  of  her  most  precious  treasures. 

C.  E.  N. 

Cambridge,  Massachusetts, 
December  1890. 


PREFACE 

TO 

THE     EDITION     OF     1887. 


The  following  lectures  were  the  most  important 
piece  of  my  literary  work  done  with  unabated 
power,  best  motive,  and  happiest  concurrence  of 
circumstance.  They  were  written  and  delivered 
while  my  mother  yet  lived,  and  had  vividest 
sympathy  in  all  I  was  attempting ; — while  also 
my  friends  put  unbroken  trust  in  me,  and  the 
course  of  study  I  had  followed  seemed  to  fit 
me  for  the  acceptance  of  noble  tasks  and  graver 
responsibilities  than  those  only  of  a  curious 
traveller,  or  casual  teacher. 

Men  of  the  present  world  may  smile  at  the 
sanguine  utterances  of  the  first  four  lectures ; 


XIV       PREFACE    TO    THE    EDITION    OF    1 887. 

but  it  has  not  been  wholly  my  own  fault  that 
they  have  remained  unfulfilled  ;  nor  do  I  retract 
one  word  of  hope  for  the  success  of  other 
masters,  nor  a  single  promise  made  to  the  sin- 
cerity of  the  student's  labour,  on  the  lines  here 
indicated.  It  would  have  been  necessary  to  my 
success,  that  I  should  have  accepted  permanent 
residence  in  Oxford,  and  scattered  none  of  my 
energy  in  other  tasks.  But  I  chose  to  spend 
half  my  time  at  Coniston  waterhead  ;  and  to 
use  half  my  force  in  attempts  to  form  a  new 
social  organisation, — the  St.  George's  Guild, — 
which  made  all  my  Oxford  colleagues  distrust- 
ful of  me,  and  many  of  my  Oxford  hearers 
contemptuous.  My  mother's  death  in  1871, 
and  that  of  a  dear  friend  in  1875,  took  away 
the  personal  joy  I  had  in  anything  I  wrote  or 
designed  :  and  in  1876,  feeling  unable  for 
Oxford  duty,  I  obtained  a  year's  leave  of  rest, 
and,  by  the  kind  and  wise  counsel  of  Prince 
Leopold,    went    to    Venice,    to   reconsider    the 


PREFACE    TO    THE    EDITION    OF    1 887.  XV 

form  into  which  I  had  cast  her  history  in  the 
abstract  of  it  given  in  the  "  Stones  of  Venice." 

The  more  true  and  close  view  of  that  history, 
begun  in  "  St.  Mark's  Rest,"  and  the  fresh  archi- 
tectural drawings  made  under  the  stimulus  of 
it,  led  me  forward  into  new  fields  of  thought, 
inconsistent  with  the  daily  attendance  needed 
by  my  Oxford  classes  ;  and  in  my  discontent 
with  the  state  I  saw  them  in,  and  my  inability 
to  return  to  their  guidance  without  abandon- 
ment of  all  my  designs  of  Venetian  and  Italian 
history,  began  the  series  of  vexations  which 
ended  in  the  very  nearly  mortal  illness  of  1878. 

Since,  therefore,  the  period  of  my  effective 
action  in  Oxford  was  only  from  1870  to  1875, 
it  can  scarcely  be  matter  of  surprise  or  reproof 
that  I  could  not  in  that  time  obtain  general 
trust  in  a  system  of  teaching  which,  though 
founded  on  that  of  Da  Vinci  and  Reynolds, 
was  at  variance  with  the  practice  of  all  recent 
European  academy  schools  ;  nor  establish — on 


xvi  PREFACE    TO    THE    EDITION    OF     1 887. 

the  unassisted  resources  of  the  Slade  Professor- 
ship— the  schools  of  Sculpture,  Architecture, 
Metalwork,  and  manuscript  Illumination,  of 
which  the  design  is  confidently  traced  in  the 
four  inaugural  lectures. 

In  revising  the  book,  I  have  indicated  as 
in  the  last  edition  of  the  "Seven  Lamps," 
passages  which  the  student  will  find  generally 
applicable,  and  in  all  their  bearings  useful,  as 
distinguished  from  those  regarding  only  their 
immediate  subject.  The  relative  importance  of 
these  broader  statements,  I  again  indicate  by  the 
use  of  capitals  or  italics ;  and  if  the  reader 
will  index  the  sentences  he  finds  useful  for  his 
own  work,  in  the  blank  pages  left  for  that  pur- 
pose at  the  close  of  the  volume,  he  will  certainly 
get  more  good  of  them  than  if  they  had  been 
grouped  for  him  according  to  the  author's 
notion  of  their  contents. 


Sandgate,    \Otli  January,   I 


CONTEN  T  S. 


LECTURE   I. 

PAGE 
INAUGURAL       .........  I 


LECTURE    II. 

THE    RELATION    OF    ART    TO    RELIGION  .  .  .  •       41 

LECTURE    III. 

Illl      RELATION    i)l'     AIM     Ki    MORALS  .  .  .  .       8o 

LECTURE   IV. 

THE  RELATION  OF  ART  TO  USE    .     .     .     .     .  115 

I  F.CTURE   V. 
line 15° 

LECTURE   VI. 

LIGHT 179 

I  ECTURE   VII. 

COLOUR    .  .  .  .  .  .  .  ..  .  .217 


ERRATA. 

Page    72,  last  line  but  one,  for  "  expiedency  "  read  "expediency.  ' 
,,      155,  Line  2,  for  "mitata"  read  "  imitata." 
„      163,    line   4,  for    "standing-    mentally    their"   read  "standing 

mentally  for  their." 
,,      187,  line  6  from  foot,  for  "  Helen  "  read  "  Hellen." 
,,     199,  line  8  from  foot,  for  "  Beside,  I  put  "  read  "  Beside  it,  I  put." 


LECTURES     ON     ART. 


LECTURE  I. 

INAUGURAL. 

r.  The  duty  which  is  to-day  laid  on  me,  of 
introducing,  among  the  elements  of  education 
appointed  in  this  great  University,  one  not  only 
new,  but  such  as  to  involve  in  its  possible  re- 
sults some  modification  of  the  rest,  is,  as  you 
well  feel,  so  grave,  that  no  man  could  under- 
take it  without  laying  himself  open  to  the  impu- 
tation of  a  kind  of  insolence  ;  and  no  man  could 
undertake  it  rightly,  without  being  in  danger  of 
having  his  hands  shortened  by  dread  of  his 
task,  and  mistrust  of  himself. 

And  it  has  chanced  to  me,  of  late,  to  be  so 
little  acquainted  either  with  pride  or  hope,  that 
I  can  scarcely  recover  so  much  as  I  now  need, 
of  the  one  for  strength,  and  of  the  other  for 

I 


2  LECTURES   ON    ART. 

foresight,  except  by  remembering  that  noble 
persons,  and  friends  of  the  high  temper  that 
judges  most  clearly  where  it  loves  best,  have 
desired  that  this  trust  should  be  given  me  :  and 
by  resting  also  in  the  conviction  that  the  goodly 
tree  whose  roots,  by  God's  help,  we  set  in  earth 
to-day,  will  not  fail  of  its  height  because  the 
planting  of  it  is  under  poor  auspices,  or  the  first 
shoots  of  it  enfeebled  by  ill  gardening. 

2.  The  munificence  of  the  English  gentleman 
to  whom  we  owe  the  founding  of  this  Professor- 
ship at  once  in  our  three  great  Universities,  has 
accomplished  the  first  great  group  of  a  series 
of  changes  now  taking  gradual  effect  in  our  sys- 
tem of  public  education,  which,  as  you  well 
know,  are  the  sign  of  a  vital  change  in  the  na- 
tional mind,  respecting  both  the  principles  on 
which  that  education  should  be  conducted,  and 
the  ranks  of  society  to  which  it  should  extend. 
For,  whereas  it  was  formerly  thought  that  the 
discipline  necessary  to  form  the  character  of 
youth  was  best  given  in  the  study  of  abstract 
branches  of  literature  and  philosophy,  it  is  now 
thought  that  the  same,  or  a  better,  discipline 
may  be  given  by  informing  men  in  early  years  of 
the  things  it  will  be  of  chief  practical  advantage 


INAUGURAL. 


to  them  afterwards  to  know ;  and  by  permit- 
ting to  them  the  choice  of  any  field  of  study 
which  they  may  feel  to  be  best  adapted  to  their 
personal  dispositions.  I  have  always  used  what 
poor  influence  I  possessed  in  advancing  this 
change ;  nor  can  any  one  rejoice  more  than  1 
in  its  practical  results.  But  the  completion — I 
will  not  venture  to  say,  correction — of  a  system 
established  by  the  highest  wisdom  of  noble  an- 
cestors, cannot  be  too  reverently  undertaken  : 
and  it  is  necessary  for  the  English  people,  who 
are  sometimes  violent  in  change  in  proportion  to 
the  reluctance  with  which  they  admit  its  neces- 
sity, to  be  now,  oftener  than  at  other  times,  re- 
minded that  the  object  of  instruction  here  is  not 
primarily  attainment,  but  discipline;  and  that  a 
youth  is  sent  to  our  Universities,  not  (hitherto 
at  least)  to  be  apprenticed  to  a  trade,  nor  even 
always  to  be  advanced  in  a  profession ;  but,  al- 
ways, to  be  made  a  gentleman  and  a  scholar. 

3.  To  be  made  these, — if  there  is  in  him  the 
making  of  either.  The  populaces  of  civilized 
countries  have  lately  been  under  a  feverish  im- 
pression that  it  is  possible  for  all  men  to  be 
both ;  and  that  having  once  become,  by  pass- 
ing   through   certain    mechanical    processes   of 


4  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

instruction,  gentle  and  learned,  they  are  sure  to 
attain  in  the  sequel  the  consummate  beatitude 
of  being  rich. 

Rich,  in  the  way  and  measure  in  which  it  is 
well  for  them  to  be  so,  they  may,  without  doubt, 
all  become.  There  is  indeed  a  land  of  Havilah 
open  to  them,  of  which  the  wonderful  sentence 
is  literally  true — •  The  gold  of  that  land  is  good.' 
But  they  must  first  understand,  that  education, 
in  its  deepest  sense,  is  not  the  equalizer,  but 
the  discerner,  of  men ;  *  and  that,  so  far  from 
being  instruments  for  the  collection  of  riches, 
the  first  lesson  of  wisdom  is  to  disdain  them, 
and  of  gentleness,  to  diffuse. 

It  is  not  therefore,  as  far  as  we  can  judge, 
yet  possible  for  all  men  to  be  gentlemen  and 
scholars.  Even  under  the  best  training  some 
will  remain  too  selfish  to  refuse  wealth,  and 
some  too  dull  to  desire  leisure.  But  many  more 
might  be  so  than  are  now  ;  nay,  perhaps  all  men 
in  England  might  one  day  be  so,  if  England 

*  The  full  meaning  of  this  sentence,  and  of  that  which 
closes  the  paragraph,  can  only  be  understood  by  reference 
to  my  more  developed  statements  on  the  subject  of  Education 
in  '  Modern  Painters'  and  in  'Time  and  Tide.'  The  follow- 
ing fourth  paragraph  is  the  most  pregnant  summary  of  my 
political  and  social  principles  I  have  ever  been  able  to  give. 


I.     INAUGURAL.  5 

truly  desired  her  supremacy  among  the  nations 
to  be  in  kindness  and  in  learning.  To  which 
good  end,  it  will  indeed  contribute  that  we  add 
some  practice  of  the  lower  arts  to  our  scheme 
of  University  education ;  but  the  thing  which 
is  vitally  necessary  is,  that  we  should  extend  the 
spirit  of  University  education  to  the  practice 
of  the  lower  arts. 

4.  And,  above  all,  it  is  needful  that  we  do 
this  by  redeeming  them  from  their  present  pain 
of  self-contempt,  and  by  giving  them  rest.  It 
has  been  too  long  boasted  as  the  pride  of  Eng- 
land, that  out  of  a  vast  multitude  of  men,  con- 
fessed to  be  in  evil  case,  it  was  possible  for 
individuals,  by  strenuous  effort,  and  rare  good 
fortune,  occasionally  to  emerge  into  the  light, 
and  look  back  with  self-gratulatory  scorn  upon 
the  occupations  of  their  parents,  and  the  circum- 
stances of  their  infancy.  Ought  we  not  rather 
to  aim  at  an  ideal  of  national  life,  when,  of  the 
employments  of  Englishmen,  though  each  shall 
be  distinct,  none  shall  be  unhappy  or  ignoble  ; 
when  mechanical  operations,  acknowledged  to 
be  debasing  in  their  tendency,*  shall  be  deputed 
to  less  fortunate  and  more  covetous  races ;  when 

*  "  r^xvai  inlpprjTOi,''  compare  page  143. 


6  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

advance  from  rank  to  rank,  though  possible  to 
all  men,  may  be  rather  shunned  than  desired 
by  the  best ;  and  the  chief  object  in  the  mind 
of  every  citizen  may  not  be  extrication  from  a 
condition  admitted  to  be  disgraceful,  but  fulfil- 
ment of  a  duty  which  shall  be  also  a  birthright  ? 
5.  And  then,  the  training  of  all  these  distinct 
classes  will  not  be  by  Universities  of  general 
knowledge,  but  by  distinct  schools  of  such  know- 
ledge as  shall  be  most  useful  for  every  class  : 
in  which,  first  the  principles  of  their  special 
business  may  be  perfectly  taught,  and  whatever 
higher  learning,  and  cultivation  of  the  faculties 
for  receiving  and  giving  pleasure,  may  be  pro- 
perly joined  with  that  labour,  taught  in  connec- 
tion with  it.  Thus,  I  do  not  despair  of  seeing 
a  School  of  Agriculture,  with  its  fully-endowed 
institutes  of  zoology,  botany,  and  chemistry  ; 
and  a  School  of  Mercantile  Seamanship,  with 
iis  institutes  of  astronomy,  meteorology,  and 
natural  history  of  the  sea  :  and,  to  name  only 
one  of  the  finer,  I  do  not  say  higher,  arts,  we 
shall,  I  hope,  in  a  little  time,  have  a  perfect 
school  of  Metal-work,  at  the  head  of  which  will 
be,  not  the  ironmasters,  but  the  goldsmiths : 
and  therein,  I  believe,  that  artists,  being  taught 


I.     INAUGURAL.  7 

how  to  deal  wisely  with  the  most  precious  of 
metals,  will  take  into  due  government  the  uses 
of  all  others. 

But  I  must  not  permit  myself  to  fail  in  the 
estimate  of  my  immediate  duty,  while  I  debate 
what  that  duty  may  hereafter  become  in  the 
hands  of  others  ;  and  1  will  therefore  now,  so 
far  as  I  am  able,  lay  before  you  a  brief  general 
view  of  the  existing  state  of  the  arts  in  England, 
and  of  the  influence  which  her  Universities, 
through  these  newly-founded  lectureships,  may, 
I  hope,  bring  to  bear  upon  it  for  good. 

6.  We  have  first  to  consider  the  impulse 
which  has  been  given  to  the  practice  of  all  the 
arts  by  the  extension  of  our  commerce,  and  en- 
larged means  of  intercourse  with  foreign  na- 
tions, by  which  we  now  become  more  familiarly 
acquainted  with  their  works  in  past  and  in 
present  times.  The  immediate  result  of  these 
new  opportunities,  I  regret  to  say,  has  been  to 
make  us  more  jealous  of  the  genius  of  others, 
than  conscious  of  the  limitations  of  our  own  ; 
and  to  make  us  rather  desire  to  enlarge  our 
wealth  by  the  sale  of  art,  than  to  elevate  our 
enjoyments  by  its  acquisition. 

Now,  whatever  efforts  we  make,  with  a  true 


8  LECTURES   ON    ART. 

desire  to  produce,  and  possess,  things  that  are 
intrinsically  beautiful,  have  in  them  at  least 
one  of  the  essential  elements  of  success.  But 
eiforts  having  origin  only  in  the  hope  of  enrich- 
ing ourselves  by  the  sale  of  our  productions,  are 
assuredly  condemned  to  dishonourable  failure ; 
not  because,  ultimately,  a  well-trained  nation  is 
forbidden  to  profit  by  the  exercise  of  its  peculiar 
art-skill ;  but  because  that  peculiar  art-skill  can 
never  be  developed  with  a  view  to  profit.  The 
right  fulfilment  of  national  power  in  art  depends 
always  on  the  direction  of  its  aim  by  the  ex- 
perience of  ages.  Self-knowledge  is  not  less 
difficult,  nor  less  necessary  for  the  direction  of 
its  genius,  to  a  people  than  to  an  individual ; 
and  it  is  neither  to  be  acquired  by  the  eagerness 
of  unpractised  pride,  nor  during  the  anxieties  of 
improvident  distress.  No  nation  ever  had,  or 
will  have,  the  power  of  suddenly  developing, 
under  the  pressure  of  necessity,  faculties  it  had 
neglected  when  it  was  at  ease  ;  nor  of  teaching 
itself  in  poverty,  the  skill  to  produce,  what  it  has 
never,  in  opulence,  had  the  sense  to  admire. 

7.  Connected  also  with  some  of  the  worst 
parts  of  our  social  system,  but  capable  of  being 
directed  to  better  result  than  this  commercial 


I.     INAUGURAL.  9 

endeavour,  we  see  lately  a  most  powerful  im- 
pulse given  to  the  production  of  costly  works 
of  art,  by  the  various  causes  which  promote  the 
sudden  accumulation  of  wealth  in  the  hands 
of  private  persons.  We  have  thus  a  vast  and 
new  patronage,  which,  in  its  present  agency,  is 
injurious  to  our  schools ;  but  which  is  never- 
theless in  a  great  degree  earnest  and  con- 
scientious, and  far  from  being  influenced  chiefly 
by  motives  of  ostentation.  Most  of  our  rich  men 
would  be  glad  to  promote  the  true  interests 
of  art  in  this  country  :  and  even  those  who  buy 
for  vanity,  found  their  vanity  on  the  possession 
of  what  they  suppose  to  be  best. 

It  is  therefore  in  a  great  measure  the  fault  of 
artists  themselves  if  they  suffer  from  this  partly 
unintelligent,  but  thoroughly  well-intended,  pa- 
tronage. If  they  seek  to  attract  it  by  eccentri- 
city, to  deceive  it  by  superficial  qualities,  or  take 
advantage  of  it  by  thoughtless  and  facile  pro- 
duction, they  necessarily  degrade  themselves 
and  it  together,  and  have  no  right  to  complain 
afterwards  that  it  will  not  acknowledge  better- 
grounded  claims.  But  if  every  painter  of  real 
power  would  do  only  what  he  knew  to  be 
worthy  of  himself,  and  refuse  to  be  involved  in 


10  LECTURES    ON    ART.     ' 

the  contention  for  undeserved  or  accidental  suc- 
cess, there  is  indeed,  whatever  may  have  been 
thought  or  said  to  the  contrary,  true  instinct 
enough  in  the  public  mind  to  follow  such  firm 
guidance.  It  is  one  of  the  facts  which  the  ex- 
perience of  thirty  years  enables  me  to  assert 
without  qualification,  that  a  really  good  picture 
is  ultimately  always  approved  and  bought, 
unless  it  is  wilfully  rendered  offensive  to  the 
public  by  faults  which  the  artist  has  been  either 
too  proud  to  abandon  or  too  weak  to  correct. 

8.  The  development  of  whatever  is  healthful 
and  serviceable  in  the  two  modes  of  impulse 
which  we  have  been  considering,  depends  how- 
ever, ultimately,  on  the  direction  taken  by  the 
true  interest  in  art  which  has  lately  been  aroused 
by  the  great  and  active  genius  of  many  of  our 
living,  or  but  lately  lost,  painters,  sculptors, 
and  architects.  It  may  perhaps  surprise,  but  I 
think  it  will  please  you  to  hear  me,  or  (if  you 
will  forgive  me,  in  my  own  Oxford,  the  presump- 
tion of  fancying  that  some  may  recognise  me 
by  an  old  name)  to  hear  the  author  of  '  Modern 
Painters '  say,  that  his  chief  error  in  earlier 
days  was  not  in  over  estimating,  but  in  too 
slightly  acknowledging  the  merit  of  living  men. 


I.     INAUGURAL.  I  I 

The  great  painter  whose  power,  while  he  was 
yet  among  us,  I  was  able  to  perceive,  was  the 
first  to  reprove  me  for  my  disregard  of  the  skill 
of  his  fellow-artists;  and,  with  this  inauguration 
of  the  study  of  the  art  of  all  time, — a  study 
which  can  only  by  true  modesty  end  in  wise 
admiration, — it  is  surely  well  that  I  connect  the 
record  of  these  words  of  his,  spoken  then  too 
truly  to  myself,  and  true  always  more  or  less 
for  all  who  are  untrained  in  that  toil, — '  You 
don't  know  how  difficult  it  is.' 

You  will  not  expect  me,  within  the  compass 
of  this  lecture,  to  give  you  any  analysis  of  the 
many  kinds  of  excellent  art  (in  all  the  three 
great  divisions)  which  the  complex  demands  of 
modern  life,  and  yet  more  varied  instincts  of 
modern  genius,  have  developed  for  pleasure  or 
service.  It  must  be  my  endeavour,  in  conjunc- 
tion with  my  colleagues  in  the  other  Universities, 
hereafter  to  enable  you  to  appreciate  these 
worthily ;  in  the  hope  that  also  the  members  of 
the  Royal  Academy,  and  those  of  the  Institute 
of  British  Architects,  may  be  induced  to  assist, 
and  guide,  the  efforts  of  the  Universities,  by 
organising  such  a  system  of  art-education  for 
their  own  students,  as  shall  in  future  prevent 


12  LECTURES   ON   ART. 

the  waste  of  genius  in  any  mistaken  endeavours; 
especially  removing  doubt  as  to  the  proper  sub- 
stance and  use  of  materials;  and  requiring  com- 
pliance with  certain  elementary  principles  of 
right,  in  every  picture  and  design  exhibited  with 
their  sanction.  It  is  not  indeed  possible  for  talent 
so  varied  as  that  of  English  artists  to  be  com- 
pelled into  the  formalities  of  a  determined 
school ;  but  it  must  certainly  be  the  function  of 
every  academical  body  to  see  that  their  younger 
students  are  guarded  from  what  must  in  every 
school  be  error ;  and  that  they  are  practised  in 
the  best  methods  of  work  hitherto  known,  before 
their  ingenuity  is  directed  to  the  invention  of 
others. 

9.  I  need  scarcely  refer,  except  for  the  sake 
of  completeness  in  my  statement,  to  one  form  of 
demand  for  art  which  is  wholly  unenlightened, 
and  powerful  only  for  evil; — namely,  the  demand 
of  the  classes  occupied  solely  in  the  pursuit  of 
pleasure,  for  objects  and  modes  of  art  that  can 
amuse  indolence  or  excite  passion.  There  is  no 
need  for  any  discussion  of  these  requirements, 
or  of  their  forms  of  influence,  though  they  are 
very  deadly  at  present  in  their  operation  on 
sculpture,  and  on  jewellers'  work.    They  cannot 


I.     INAUGURAL.  13 

be  checked  by  blame,  nor  guided  by  instruction  ; 
they  are  merely  the  necessary  result  of  what- 
ever defects  exist  in  the  temper  and  principles 
of  a  luxurious  society ;  and  it  is  only  by  moral 
changes,  not  by  art-criticism,  that  their  action 
can  be  modified. 

io.  Lastly,  there  is  a  continually  increasing 
demand    for  popular  art,    multipliable   by   the 
printing-press,    illustrative   of  daily   events,  of 
general  literature,  and  of  natural  science.     Ad- 
mirable skill,  and  some  of  the  best   talent  of 
modern  times,  are  occupied  in  supplying  this 
want ;  and  there  is  no  limit  to  the  good  which 
may  be  effected  by  rightly  taking  advantage  of 
the  powers  we  now  possess  of  placing  good  and 
lovely  art  within  the  reach  of  the  poorest  classes. 
Much  has  been  already  accomplished  ;  but  great 
harm  has  been  done  also, — first,  by  forms  of  art 
definitely  addressed  to  depraved  tastes  ;   and, 
secondly,  in  a  more  subtle  way,  by  really  beau- 
tiful and  useful  engravings  which  are  yet  not 
good  enough  to  retain  their  influence  on  the 
public  mind  ; — which   weary   it   by  redundant 
quantity  of  monotonous  average  excellence,  and 
diminish  or  destroy  its  power  of  accurate  atten- 
tion to  work  of  a  higher  order. 


14 


LECTURES    ON    ART. 


Especially  this  is  to  be  regretted  in  the  effect 
produced  on  the  schools  of  line  engraving,  which 
had  reached  in  England  an  executive  skill  of  a 
kind  before  unexampled,  and  which  of  late  have 
lost  much  of  their  more  sterling  and  legitimate 
methods.  Still,  I  have  seen  plates  produced 
quite  recently,  more  beautiful,  I  think,  in  some 
qualities  than  anything  ever  before  attained 
by  the  burin  :  and  I  have  not  the  slightest  fear 
that  photography,  or  any  other  adverse  or  com- 
petitive operation,  will  in  the  least  ultimately 
diminish, — I  believe  they  will,  on  the  contrary, 
stimulate  and  exalt — the  grand  old  powers  of  the 
wood  and  the  steel. 

n.  Such  are,  I  think,  briefly  the  present 
conditions  of  art  with  which  we  have  to  deal ; 
and  I  conceive  it  to  be  the  function  of  this  Pro- 
fessorship, with  respect  to  them,  to  establish 
both  a  practical  and  critical  school  of  fine  art 
for  English  gentlemen  :  practical,  so  that  if  they 
draw  at  all,  they  may  draw  rightly  ;  and  critical, 
so  that  being  first  directed  to  such  works  of 
existing  art  as  will  best  reward  their  study,  they 
may  afterwards  make  their  patronage  of  living 
artists  delightful  to  themselves  in  their  con- 
sciousness of  its  justice,  and,  to  the  utmost, 


I.     INAUGURAL.  1 5 

beneficial  to  their  country,  by  being  given  to 
the  men  who  deserve  it ;  in  the  early  period  of 
their  lives,  when  they  both  need  it  most,  and 
can  be  influenced  by  it  to  the  best  advantage. 

12.  And  especially  with  reference  to  this 
function  of  patronage,  I  believe  myself  justified 
in  taking  into  account  future  probabilities  as 
to  the  character  and  range  of  art  in  England  : 
and  I  shall  endeavour  at  once  to  organize  with 
you  a  system  of  study  calculated  to  develope 
chiefly  the  knowledge  of  those  branches  in 
which  the  English  schools  have  shown,  and  are 
likely  to  show,  peculiar  excellence. 

Now,  in  asking  your  sanction  both  for  the 
nature  of  the  general  plans  I  wish  to  adopt,  and 
for  what  I  conceive  to  be  necessary  limitations 
of  them,  I  wish  you  to  be  fully  aware  of  my 
reasons  for  both :  and  I  will  therefore  risk  the 
burdening  of  your  patience  while  I  state  the 
directions  of  effort  in  which  I  think  English 
artists  are  liable  to  failure,  and  those  also  in 
which  past  experience  has  shown  they  are 
secure  of  success. 

13.  I  referred,  but  now,  to  the  effort  we  are 
making  to  improve  the  designs  of  our  manu- 
factures.    Within  certain  limits  I  believe  this 


1 6  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

improvement  may  indeed  take  effect :  so  that  we 
may  no  more  humour  momentary  fashions  by 
ugly  results  of  chance  instead  of  design  ;  and 
may  produce  both  good  tissues,  of  harmonious 
colours,  and  good  forms  and  substance  of  pot- 
tery and  glass.     But  we  shall  never  excel  in 
decorative  design.     Such  design  is  usually  pro- 
duced  by  people  of  great   natural   powers  of 
mind,  who  have  no  variety  of  subjects  to  em- 
ploy themselves  on,  no  oppressive  anxieties,  and 
are  in  circumstances  either  of  natural  scenery  or 
of  daily  life,  which  cause  pleasurable  excitement. 
We  cannot  design,  because  we  have  too  much 
to  think  of,  and  we  think  of  it  too  anxiously. 
It  has  long  been  observed  how  little  real  anxiety 
exists  in  the  minds  of  the  partly  savage  races 
which  excel  in  decorative  art ;  and  we  must  not 
suppose  that  the  temper  of  the   Middle  Ages 
was  a  troubled  one,  because  every  day  brought 
its  danger  or  its  change.     The  very  eventfulness 
of  the  life  rendered  it  careless,  as  generally  is 
still  the  case  with  soldiers  and  sailors.      Now, 
when  there  are  great  powers  of  thought,  and 
little  to  think  of,  all  the  waste  energy  and  fancy 
are  thrown  into  the  manual  work,  and  you  have 
so  much  intellect  as  would  direct  the  affairs 


I.     INAUGURAL.  1 7 

of  a  large  mercantile  concern  for  a  day,  spent 
all  at  once,  quite  unconsciously,  in  drawing  an 
ingenious  spiral. 

Also,  powers  of  doing  fine  ornamental  work 
are  only  to  be  reached  by  a  perpetual  discipline 
of  the  hand  as  well  as  of  the  fancy  ;  discipline 
as  attentive  and  painful  as  that  which  a  juggler 
has  to  put  himself  through,  to  overcome  the  more 
palpable  difficulties  of  his  profession.  The  exe- 
cution of  the  best  artists  is  always  a  splendid 
tour-de-force ;  and  much  that  in  painting  is 
supposed  to  be  dependent  on  material  is  indeed 
only  a  lovely  and  quite  inimitable  legerdemain. 
Now,  when  powers  of  fancy,  stimulated  by  this 
triumphant  precision  of  manual  dexterity,  de- 
scend uninterruptedly  from  generation  to  gene- 
ration, you  have  at  last,  what  is  not  so  much  a 
trained  artist,  as  a  new  species  of  animal,  with 
whose  instinctive  gifts  you  have  no  chance  of 
contending.  And  thus  all  our  imitations  of  other 
people's  work  are  futile.  We  must  learn  first 
to  make  honest  English  wares,  and  afterwards 
to  decorate  them  as  may  please  the  then  ap- 
proving Graces. 

14.  Secondly — and  this  is  an  incapacity  of  a 
graver  kind,  yet  having  its  own  good  in  it  also 

2 


1 8  LECTURES   ON    ART. 

— we  shall  never  be  successful  in  the  highest 
fields  of  ideal  or  theological  art. 

For  there  is  one  strange,  but  quite  essential, 
character  in  us  :  ever  since  the  Conquest,  if  not 
earlier  : — a  delight  in  the  forms  of  burlesque 
which  are  connected  in  some  degree  with  the 
foulness  of  evil.  I  think  the  most  perfect  type 
of  a  true  English  mind  in  its  best  possible  tem- 
per, is  that  of  Chaucer ;  and  you  will  find  that, 
while  it  is  for  the  most  part  full  of  thoughts 
of  beauty,  pure  and  wild  like  that  of  an  April 
morning,  there  are  even  in  the  midst  of  this, 
sometimes  momentarily  jesting  passages  which 
stoop  to  play  with  evil — while  the  power  of 
listening  to  and  enjoying  the  jesting  of  entirely 
gross  persons,  whatever  the  feeling  may  be 
which  permits  it,  afterwards  degenerates  into 
forms  of  humour  which  render  some  of  quite 
the  greatest,  wisest,  and  most  moral  of  English 
writers  now  almost  useless  for  our  youth.  And 
yet  you  will  find  that  whenever  Englishmen 
are  wholly  without  this  instinct,  their  genius  is 
comparatively  weak  and  restricted. 

15.  Now,  the  first  necessity  for  the  doing  of 
any  great  work  in  ideal  art,  is  the  looking  upon 
all  foulness  with  horror,  as  a  contemptible  though 


I.     INAUGURAL.  19 

dreadful  enemy.     You  may  easily  understand 
what  I  mean,  by  comparing  the  feelings  with 
which  Dante  regards  any  form  of  obscenity  or 
of  base  jest,  with  the  temper  in  which  the  same 
things  are  regarded  by  Shakespeare.     And  this 
strange  earthly  instinct  of  ours,  coupled  as  it 
is,  in  our  good  men,  with  great  simplicity  and 
common  sense,  renders  them  shrewd  and  per- 
fect observers  and  delineators  of  actual  nature, 
low  or    high ;    but    precludes    them   from   that 
speciality  of  art  which  is  properly  called  sub- 
lime.    If  ever  we  try  anything  in  the  manner  of 
Michael  Angelo  or  of  Dante,  we  catch  a  fall, 
even  in  literature,  as  Milton  in  the  battle  of  the 
angels,  spoiled  from  Hesiod  ;  while  in  art,  every 
attempt  in  this  style  has  hitherto  been  the  sign 
either  of  the  presumptuous  egotism  of  persons 
who  had  never  really  learned  to  be  workmen,  or 
it  has  been  connected  with  very  tragic  forms 
of  the  contemplation  of  death,— it  has  always 
been  partly  insane,  and  never  once  wholly  suc- 
cessful. 

But  we  need  not  feel  any  discomfort  in  these 
limitations  of  our  capacity.  We  can  do  much 
that  others  cannot,  and  more  than  we  have  ever 
yet  ourselves  completely  done.     Our  first  great 


20  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

gift  is  in  the  portraiture  of  living  people — a 
power  already  so  accomplished  in  both  Reynolds 
and  Gainsborough  that  nothing  is  left  for  future 
masters  but  to  add  the  calm  of  perfect  work- 
manship to  their  vigour  and  felicity  of  percep- 
tion. And  of  what  value  a  true  school  of 
portraiture  may  become  in  the  future,  when 
worthy  men  will  desire  only  to  be  known,  and 
others  will  not  fear  to  know  them,  for  what  they 
truly  were,  we  cannot  from  any  past  records  of 
art  influence  yet  conceive.  But  in  my  next 
address  it  will  be  partly  my  endeavour  to  show 
you  how  much  more  useful,  because  more  hum- 
ble, the  labour  of  great  masters  might  have 
been,  had  they  been  content  to  bear  record  of 
the  souls  that  were  dwelling  with  them  on 
earth,  instead  of  striving  to  give  a  deceptive 
glory  to  those  they  dreamed  of  in  heaven. 

1 6.  Secondly,  we  have  an  intense  power  of 
invention  and  expression  in  domestic  drama ; 
(King  Lear  and  Hamlet  being  essentially  do- 
mestic in  their  strongest  motives  of  interest). 
There  is  a  tendency  at  this  moment  towards 
a  noble  development  of  our  art  in  this  direc- 
tion, checked  by  many  adverse  conditions,  which 
may  be  summed  in  one, — the  insufficiency  of 


I.     INAUGURAL.  21 

generous  civic  or  patriotic  passion  in  the  heart 
of  the  English  people  ;  a  fault  which  makes  its 
domestic  affection  selfish,  contracted,  and,  there 
fore,  frivolous. 

17.  Thirdly,  in  connection  with  our  simplicity 
and  good-humour,  and  partly  with  that  very  love 
of  the  grotesque  which  debases  oui  ideal,  we 
have  a  sympathy  with  the  lower  animals  which 
is  peculiarly  our  own  ;  and  which,  though  it  has 
already  found  some  exquisite  expression  in  the 
works  of  Bewick  and  Landseer,  is  yet  quite 
undeveloped.  This  sympathy,  with  the  aid  of 
our  now  authoritative  science  of  physiology,  and 
in  association  with  our  British  love  of  adventure, 
will,  I  hope,  enable  us  to  give  to  the  future  in- 
habitants of  the  globe  an  almost  perfect  record 
of  the  present  forms  of  animal  life  upon  it,  of 
which  many  are  on  the  point  of  being  extin- 
guished. 

Lastly,  but  not  as  the  least  important  of  our 
special  powers,  I  have  to  note  our  skill  in  land- 
scape, of  which  I  will  presently  speak  more 
particularly. 

18.  Such  I  conceive  to  be  the  directions  in 
which,  principally,  we  have  the  power  to  excel ; 
and  you  must  at  once  see  how  the  consideration 


22  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

of  them  must  modify  the  advisable  methods  of 
our  art  study.  For  if  our  professional  painters 
were  likely  to  produce  pieces  of  art  loftily  ideal 
in  their  character,  it  would  be  desirable  to  form 
the  taste  of  the  students  here  by  setting  before 
them  only  the  purest  examples  of  Greek,  and 
the  mightiest  of  Italian,  art.  But  I  do  not  think 
you  will  yet  find  a  single  instance  of  a  school 
directed  exclusively  to  these  higher  branches  of 
study  in  England,  which  has  strongly,  or  even 
definitely,  made  impression  on  its  younger 
scholars.  While,  therefore,  I  shall  endeavour 
to  point  out  clearly  the  characters  to  be  looked 
for  and  admired  in  the  great  masters  of  imagi- 
native design,  I  shall  make  no  special  effort  to 
stimulate  the  imitation  of  them ;  and  above  all 
things,  I  shall  try  to  probe  in  you,  and  to  pre- 
vent, the  affectation  into  which  it  is  easy  to  fall, 
even  through  modesty, — of  either  endeavouring 
to  admire  a  grandeur  with  which  we  have  no 
natural  sympathy,  or  losing  the  pleasure  we 
might  take  in  the  study  of  familiar  things,  by 
considering  it  a  sign  of  refinement  to  look  for 
what  is  of  higher  class,  or  rarer  occurrence. 

19.  Again,    if   our   artisans   were    likely    to 
attain   any  distinguished    skill    in   ornamental 


I.     INAUGURAL.  23 

design,  it  would  be  incumbent  upon  me  to  make 
my  class  here  accurately  acquainted  with  the 
principles  of  earth  and  metal  work,  and  to  ac- 
custom them  to  take  pleasure  in  conventional 
arrangements  of  colour  and  form.  I  hope,  in- 
deed, to  do  this,  so  far  as  to  enable  them  to  dis- 
cern the  real  merit  of  many  styles  of  art  which 
are  at  present  neglected  ;  and,  above  all,  to  read 
the  minds  of  semi-barbaric  nations  in  the  only 
language  by  which  their  feelings  were  capable 
of  expression ;  and  those  members  of  my  class 
whose  temper  inclines  them  to  take  pleasure  in 
the  interpretation  of  mythic  symbols,  will  not 
probably  be  induced  to  quit  the  profound  fields 
of  investigation  which  early  art,  examined  care- 
fully, will  open  to  them,  and  which  belong  to  it 
alone  :  for  this  is  a  general  law,  that  supposing 
the  intellect  of  the  workman  the  same,  the  more 
imitatively  complete  his  art,  the  less  he  will 
mean  by  it ;  and  the  ruder  the  symbol,  the 
deeper  is  its  intention.  Nevertheless,  when  I 
have  once  sufficiently  pointed  out  the  nature 
and  value  of  this  conventional  work,  and  vindi- 
cated it  from  the  contempt  with  which  it  is  too 
generally  regarded,  I  shall  leave  the  student  to 
his  own  pleasure  in  its  pursuit ;  and  even,  so 


24 


LECTURES    ON    ART. 


far  as  I  may,  discourage  all  admiration  founded 
on  quaintness  or  peculiarity  of  style ;  and  re- 
press any  other  modes  of  feeling  which  are 
likely  to  lead  rather  to  fastidious  collection  of 
curiosities,  than  to  the  intelligent  appreciation 
of  work  which,  being  executed  in  compliance 
with  constant  laws  of  right,  cannot  be  singular, 
and  must  be  distinguished  only  by  excellence 
in  what  is  always  desirable. 

20.  While,  therefore,  in  these  and  such  other 
directions,  I  shall  endeavour  to  put  every  ade- 
quate means  of  advance  within  reach  of  the 
members  of  my  class,  I  shall  use  my  own  best 
energy  to  show  them  what  is  consummately 
beautiful   and  well   done,   by  men  who   have 
passed  through  the  symbolic  or  suggestive  stage 
of  design,  and  have  enabled  themselves  to  com- 
ply, by  truth  of  representation,  with  the  strictest 
or  most  eager  demands  of  accurate  science,  and 
of  disciplined  passion.     I  shall  therefore  direct 
your  observation,  during  the  greater  part  of  the 
time  you  may  spare  to  me,  to  what  is  indis- 
putably best,  both  in  painting  and  sculpture; 
trusting  that  you  will  afterwards  recognise  the 
nascent  and  partial  skill  of  former  days  both 
with  greater  interest  and  greater  respect,  when 


I.     INAUGURAL.  2$ 

you  kn    v  the  full  difficulty  of  what  it  attempted, 
and  the  complete  range  of  what  it  foretold. 

21.  And  with  this  view,  I  shall  at  once  en- 
deavour to  do  what  has  for  many  years  been 
in  my  thoughts,  and  now,  with  the  advice  and 
assistance  of  the  curators  of  the  University 
Galleries,  I  do  not  doubt  may  be  accomplished 
here  in  Oxford,  just  where  it  will  be  pre- 
eminently useful — namely,  to  arrange  an  edu- 
cational series  of  examples  of  excellent  art, 
standards  to  which  you  may  at  once  refer  on 
any  questionable  point,  and  by  the  study  of 
which  }'ou  may  gradually  attain  an  instinctive 
sense  of  right,  which  will  afterwards  be  liable 
to  no  serious  error.  Such  a  collection  may  be 
formed,  both  more  perfectly,  and  more  easily, 
than  would  commonly  be  supposed.  For  the 
real  utility  of  the  series  will  depend  on  its  re- 
stricted extent, — on  the  severe  exclusion  of  aU 
second-rate,  superfluous,  or  even  attractively 
varied  examples, — and  on  the  confining  the 
students'  attention  to  a  few  types  of  what  is 
insuperably  good.  More  progress  in  power  of 
judgment  may  be  made  in  a  limited  time  by  the 
examination  of  one  work,  than  by  the  review 
of  many;    and  a,  certain  degree  of  vitality  is 


26  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

given  to  the  impressiveness  of  every  character- 
istic, by  its  being  exhibited  in  clear  contrast, 
and  without  repetition. 

The  greater  number  of  the  examples  I  shall 
choose  will  be  only  engravings  or  photographs ; 
they  shall  be  arranged  so  as  to  be  easily  acces- 
sible, and  I  will  prepare  a  catalogue,  pointing 
out  my  purpose  in  the  selection  of  each.  But 
in  process  of  time,  I  have  good  hope  that  assist- 
ance will  be  given  me  by  the  English  public  in 
making  the  series  here  no  less  splendid  than 
serviceable ;  and  in  placing  minor  collections, 
arranged  on  a  similar  principle,  at  the  command 
also  of  the  students  in  our  public  schools. 

22.  In  the  second  place,  I  shall  endeavour  to 
prevail  upon  all  the  younger  members  of  the 
University  who  wish  to  attend  the  art  lectures, 
to  give  at  least  so  much  time  to  manual  practice 
as  may  enabje  them  to  understand  the  nature 
and  difficulty  of  executive  skill.  The  time  so 
spent  will  not  be  lost,  even  as  regards  their 
other  studies  at  the  University,  for  I  will  pre- 
pare the  practical  exercises  in  a  double  series, 
one  illustrative  of  history,  the  other  of  natural 
science.  And  whether  you  are  drawing  a  piece 
of  Greek  armour,  or  a  hawk's  beak,  or  a  lion's 


I.     INAUGURAL.  1J 

paw,  you  will  find  that  the  mere  necessity  of 
using  the  hand  compels  attention  to  circum- 
stances which  would  otherwise  have  escaped 
notice,  and  fastens  them  in  the  memory  without 
farther  effort.  But  were  it  even  otherwise,  and 
this  practical  training  did  really  involve  some 
sacrifice  of  your  time,  I  do  not  fear  but  that  it 
will  be  justified  to  you  by  its  felt  results :  and 
I  think  that  general  public  feeling  is  also  tend- 
ing to  the  admission  that  accomplished  educa- 
tion must  include,  not  only  full  command  of 
expression  by  language,  but  command  of  true 
musical  sound  by  the  voice,  and  of  true  form 
by  the  hand. 

23.  While  I  myself  hold  this  professorship, 
I  shall  direct  you  in  these  exercises  very  defi- 
nitely to  natural  history,  and  to  landscape;  not 
only  because  in  these  two  branches  I  am  pro- 
bably able  to  show  you  truths  which  might  be 
despised  by  my  successors  ;  but  because  I  think 
the  vital  and  joyful  study  of  natural  history 
quite  the  principal  element  requiring  introduc- 
tion, not  only  into  University,  but  into  national, 
education,  from  highest  to  lowest ;  and  I  even 
will  risk  incurring  your  ridicule  by  confessing 
one  of  my  fondest  dreams,  that  I  may  succeed 


28  LECTURES   ON   ART. 

in  making  some  of  you  English  youths  like 
better  to  look  at  a  bird  than  to  shoot  it ;  and 
even  desire  to  make  wild  creatures  tame,  instead 
of  tame  creatures  wild.  And  for  the  study  of 
landscape,  it  is,  I  think,  now  calculated  to  be 
of  use  in  deeper,  if  not  more  important  modes, 
than  that  of  natural  science,  for  reasons  which 
I  will  ask  you  to  let  me  state  at  some  length. 

24.  Observe  first ; — no  race  of  men  which  is 
entirely  bred  in  wild  country,  far  from  cities, 
ever  enjoys  landscape.  They  may  enjoy  the 
beauty  of  animals,  but  scarcely  even  that :  a 
true  peasant  cannot  see  the  beauty  of  cattle  . 
but  only  qualities  expressive  of  their  service- 
ableness.  I  waive  discussion  of  this  to-day ; 
permit  my  assertion  of  it,  under  my  confident 
guarantee  of  future  proof.  Landscape  can  only 
be  enjoyed  by  cultivated  persons ;  and  it  is 
only  by  music,  literature,  and  painting,  that 
cultivation  can  be  given.  Also,  the  faculties 
which  are  thus  received  are  hereditary;  so  tha: 
the  child  of  an  educated  race  has  an  innate 
instinct  for  beauty,  derived  from  arts  practised 
hundreds  of  years  before  its  birth.  Now  farther 
note  this,  one  of  the  loveliest  things  in  human 
nature.     In  the  children  of  noble  races,  trained 


I.     INAUGURAL.  29 

by  surrounding  art,  and  at  the  same  time  in 
the  practice  of  great  deeds,  there  is  an  intense 
delight  in  the  landscape  of  their  country  as 
memorial;  a  sense  not  taught  to  them,  nor 
teachable  to  any  others ;  but,  in  them,  innate ; 
and  the  seal  and  reward  of  persistence  in  great 
national  life ;— the  obedience  and  the  peace  of 
ages  having  extended  gradually  the  glory  of 
the  revered  ancestors  also  to  the  ancestral  land ; 
until  the  Motherhood  of  the  dust,  the  mystery 
of  the  Demeter  from  whose  bosom  we  came, 
and  to  whose  bosom  we  return,  surrounds  and 
inspires,  everywhere,  the  local  awe  of  field  and 
fountain  ;  the  sacredness  of  landmark  that  none 
may  remove,  and  of  wave  that  none  may  pollute; 
while  records  of  proud  days,  and  of  dear  persons, 
make  every  rock  monumental  with  ghostly  in- 
scription, and  every  path  lovely  with  noble 
desolateness. 

25.  Now,  however  checked  by  lightness  of 
temperament,  the  instinctive  love  of  landscape 
in  us  has  this  deep  root,  which,  in  your  minds, 
I  will  pray  you  to  disencumber  from  whatever 
may  oppress  or  mortify  it,  and  to  strive  to  feel 
with  all  the  strength  of  your  youth  that  a  nation 
is  only  worthy  of  the  soil  and  the  scenes  that 


30  LECTURES   ON    ART. 

it  has  inherited,  when,  by  all  its  acts  and  arts, 
it  is  making  them  more  lovely  for  its  children. 

And  now,  I  trust,  you  will  feel  that  it  is  not 
in  mere  yielding  to  my  own  fancies  that  I  have 
chosen,  for  the  first  three  subjects  in  your 
educational  series,  landscape  scenes ; — two  in 
England,  and  one  in  France,— the  association  of 
these  being  not  without  purpose  : — and  for  the 
fourth  Albert  Diirer's  dream  of  the  Spirit  of 
Labour.  And  of  the  landscape  subjects,  I  must 
tell  you  this  much.  The  first  is  an  engraving 
only  ;  the  original  drawing  by  Turner  was  de- 
stroyed by  fire  twenty  years  ago.  For  which 
loss  I  wish  you  to  be  sorry,  and  to  remember, 
in  connection  with  this  first  example,  that  what- 
ever remains  to  us  of  possession  in  the  arts  is, 
compared  to  what  we  might  have  had  if  we  had 
cared  for  them,  just  what  that  engraving  is  to 
the  lost  drawing.  You  will  find  also  that  its 
subject  has  meaning  in  it  which  will  not  be 
harmful  to  you.  The  second  example  is  a  real 
drawing  by  Turner,  in  the  same  series,  and 
very  nearly  of  the  same  place  ;  the  two  scenes 
are  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  each  other.  It 
will  show  you  the  character  of  the  work  that 
was  destroyed.     It  will  show  you,  in  process  of 


I.     INAUGURAL.  3 1 

time,  much  more  ;  but  chiefly,  and  this  is  my 
main  reason  for  choosing  both,  it  will  be  a 
permanent  expression  to  you  of  what  English 
landscape  was  once  ; — and  must,  if  we  are  to 
remain  a  nation,  be  again. 

I  think  it  farther  right  to  tell  you,  for  other- 
wise you  might  hardly  pay  regard  enough  to 
work  apparently  so  simple,  that  by  a  chance 
which  is  not  altogether  displeasing  to  me,  this 
drawing,  which  it  has  become,  for  these  reasons, 
necessary  for  me  to  give  you,  is — not  indeed 
the  best  I  have,  (I  have  several  as  good,  though 
none  better) — but,  of  all  I  have,  the  one  I  had 
least  mind  to  part  with. 

The  third  example  is  also  a  Turner  drawing 
— a  scene  on  the  Loire — never  engraved.  It 
is  an  introduction  to  the  series  of  the  Loire, 
which  you  have  already  ;  it  has  in  its  present 
place  a  due  concurrence  with  the  expressional 
purpose  of  its  companions  ;  and  though  small, 
it  is  very  precious,  being  a  faultless,  and,  I 
believe,  unsurpassable  example  of  water-colour 
painting. 

Chiefly,  however,  remember  the  object  of 
these  three  first  examples  is  to  give  you  an 
index  to  your  truest  feelings  about  European, 


32  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

and  especially  about  your  native  landscape,  as 
it  is  pensive  and  historical ;  and  so  far  as  you 
yourselves  make  any  effort  at  its  representation, 
to  give  you  a  motive  for  fidelity  in  handwork 
more  animating  than  any  connected  with  mere 
success  in  the  art  itself. 

26.  With  respect  to  actual  methods  of  prac- 
tice, I  will  not  incur  the  responsibility  of  deter- 
mining them  for  you.  We  will  take  Leonardo's 
treatise  on  painting  for  our  first  text-book  ;  and 
I  think  you  need  not  fear  being  misled  by  me 
if  I  ask  you  to  do  only  what  Lionardo  bids,  or 
what  will  be  necessary  to  enable  you  to  do  his 
bidding.  But  you  need  not  possess  the  book, 
nor  read  it  through.  I  will  translate  the  pieces 
to  the  authority  of  which  I  shall  appeal ;  and, 
in  process  of  time,  by  analysis  of  this  frag- 
mentary treatise,  show  you  some  characters 
not  usually  understood  of  the  simplicity  as  well 
as  subtlety  common  to  most  great  workmen  of 
that  age.  Afterwards  we  will  collect  the  instruc- 
tions of  other  undisputed  masters,  till  we  hav* 
obtained  a  code  of  laws  clearly  resting  on  the 
consent  of  antiquity. 

While,  however,  I  thus  in  some  measure  limit 
for  the  present  the  methods  of  your  practice, 


I.     INAUGURAL.  33 

I  shall  endeavour  to  make  the  courses  of  my 
University  lectures  as  wide  in  their  range  as 
my  knowledge  will  permit.  The  range  so  con- 
ceded will  be  narrow  enough ;  but  I  believe 
that  my  proper  function  is  not  to  acquaint  you 
with  the  general  history,  but  with  the  essential 
principles  of  art ;  and  with  its  history  only 
when  it  has  been  both  great  and  good,  or  where 
some  special  excellence  of  it  requires  examina- 
tion of  the  causes  to  which  it  must  be  ascribed. 
2J.  But  if  either  our  work,  or  our  enquiries, 
are  to  be  indeed  successful  in  their  own  field, 
they  must  be  connected  with  others  of  a  sterner 
character.  Now  listen  to  me,  if  I  have  in  these 
past  details  lost  or  burdened  your  attention  ; 
for  this  is  what  I  have  chiefly  to  say  to  you. 
The  art  of  any  country  is  the  exponent  of  its 
social  and  political  virtues.  I  will  show  you  that 
it  is  so  in  some  detail,  in  the  second  of  my  sub- 
sequent course  of  lectures  ;  meantime  accept 
this  as  one  of  the  things,  and  the  most  import- 
ant of  all  things,  I  can  positively  declare  to  you. 
The  art,  or  general  productive  and  formative 
energy,  of  any  country,  is  an  exact  exponent  of 
its  ethical  life.  You  can  have  noble  art  only 
from  noble  persons,  associated  under  laws  fitted 

3 


34  LECTURES    ON   ART. 

to  their  time  and  circumstances.  And  the  best 
skill  that  any  teacher  of  art  could  spend  here  in 
your  help,  would  not  end  in  enabling  you  even 
so  much  as  rightly  to  draw  the  water-lilies  in 
the  Cherwell  (and  though  it  did,  the  work  when 
done  would  not  be  worth  the  lilies  themselves) 
unless  both  he  and  you  were  seeking,  as  I  trust 
we  shall  together  seek,  in  the  laws  which  regu- 
late the  finest  industries,  the  clue  to  the  laws 
which  regulate  all  industries,  and  in  better  obedi- 
ence to  which  we  shall  actually  have  hencefor- 
ward to  live  :  not  merely  in  compliance  with 
our  own  sense  of  what  is  right,  but  under  the 
weight  of  quite  literal  necessity.  For  the  trades 
by  which  the  British  people  has  believed  it  to 
be  the  highest  of  destinies  to  maintain  itself,  can- 
not now  long  remain  undisputed  in  its  hands ; 
its  unemployed  poor  are  daily  becoming  more 
violently  criminal  ;  and  a  certain  distress  in  the 
middle  classes,  arising,  partly  from  their  vanity 
in  living  always  up  to  their  incomes,  and  partly 
from  their  folly  in  imagining  that  they  can  subsist 
in  idleness  upon  usury,  will  at  last  compel  the 
sons  and  daughters  of  English  families  to  ac- 
quaint themselves  with  the  principles  of  provi- 
dential economy;   and  to  learn  that   food  can 


I.     INAUGURAL.  35 

only  be  got  out  of  the  ground,  and  competence 
only  secured  by  frugality  ;  and  that  although  it 
is  not  possible  for  all  to  be  occupied  in  the 
highest  arts,  nor  for  any,  guiltlessly,  to  pass 
their  days  in  a  succession  of  pleasures,  the 
most  perfect  mental  culture  possible  to  men  is 
founded  on  their  useful  energies,  and  their  best 
arts  and  brightest  happiness  are  consistent,  and 
consistent  only,  with  their  virtue. 

28.  This,  I  repeat,  gentlemen,  will  soon  be- 
come manifest  to  those  among  us,  and  there 
are  yet  many,  who  are  honest-hearted.  And 
the  future  fate  of  England  depends  upon  the 
position  they  then  take,  and  on  their  courage 
in  maintaining  it. 

There  is  a  destiny  now  possible  to  us — the 
highest  ever  set  before  a  nation  to  be  accepted 
or  refused.  We  are  still  undegenerate  in  race ; 
a  race  mingled  of  the  best  northern  blood.  We 
are  not  yet  dissolute  in  temper,  but  still  have 
the  firmness  to  govern,  and  the  grace  to  obey. 
We  have  been  taught  a  religion  of  pure  mercy, 
which  we  must  either  now  betray,  or  learn  to 
defend  by  fulfilling.  And  we  are  rich  in  an  in- 
heritance of  honour,  bequeathed  to  us  through 
a  thousand  years  of   noble   history,    which  it 


36  LECTURES    ON   ART. 

should  be  our  daily  thirst  to  increase  with  splen- 
did avarice,  so  that  Englishmen,  if  it  be  a  sin 
to  covet  honour,  should  be  the  most  offending 
souls  alive.  Within  the  last  few  years  we 
have  had  the  laws  of  natural  science  opened  to 
us  with  a  rapidity  which  has  been  blinding  by 
its  brightness ;  and  means  of  transit  and  com- 
munication given  to  us,  which  have  made  but 
one  kingdom  of  the  habitable  globe.  One  king- 
dom ; — but  who  is  to  be  its  king  ?  Is  there  to 
be  no  king  in  it,  think  you,  and  every  man  to 
do  that  which  is  right  in  his  own  eyes  ?  Or 
only  kings  of  terror,  and  the  obscene  empires 
of  Mammon  and  Belial  ?  Or  will  you,  youths 
of  England,  make  your  country  again  a  royal 
throne  of  kings ;  a  sceptred  isle,  for  all  the 
world  a  source  of  light,  a  centre  of  peace ;  mis- 
tress of  Learning  and  of  the  Arts; — faithful 
guardian  of  great  memories  in  the  midst  of 
irreverent  and  ephemeral  visions; — faithful  ser- 
vant of  time-tried  principles,  under  temptation 
from  fond  experiments  and  licentious  desires ; 
and  amidst  the  cruel  and  clamorous  jealousies 
of  the  nations,  worshipped  in  her  strange  valour 
of  goodwill  towards  men  ? 

29.    'Vexilla  regis  prodeunt.'     Yes,  but  of 


I.     INAUGURAL.  37 

which  king  ?  There  are  the  two  oriflammes ; 
which  shall  we  plant  on  the  farthest  islands, 
— the  one  that  floats  in  heavenly  fire,  or  that 
hangs  heavy  with  foul  tissue  of  terrestrial  gold  ? 
There  is  indeed  a  course  of  beneficent  glory 
open  to  us,  such  as  never  was  yet  offered  to 
any  poor  group  of  mortal  souls.  But  it  must 
be— it  w"  with  us,  now,  '  Reign  or  Die.'  And  if 
it  shall  be  said  of  this  country,  '  Fece  per  vil- 
tate,  il  gran  rifiuto ; '  that  refusal  of  the  crown 
will  be,  of  all  yet  recorded  in  history,  the  shame- 
fullest  and  most  untimely. 

And  this  is  what  she  must  either  do,  or 
perish :  she  must  found  colonies  as  fast  and  as 
far  as  she  is  able,  formed  of  her  most  energetic 
and  worthiest  men ; — seizing  every  piece  of 
fruitful  waste  ground  she  can  set  her  foot  on, 
and  there  teaching  these  her  colonists  that  their 
chief  virtue  is  to  be  fidelity  to  their  country, 
and  that  their  first  aim  is  to  be  to  advance  the 
power  of  England  by  land  and  sea :  and  that, 
though  they  live  on  a  distant  plot  of  ground, 
they  are  no  more  to  consider  themselves  there- 
fore disfranchised  from  their  native  land,  than 
the  sailors  of  her  fleets  do,  because  they  float  on 
distant  waves.     So  that  literally,  these  colonies 

394783 


38  LECTURES   ON    ART. 

must  be  fastened  fleets;  and  every  man  of  them 
must  be  under  authority  of  captains  and  officers, 
whose  better  command  is  to  be  over  fields  and 
streets  instead  of  ships  of  the  line ;  and  Eng- 
land, in  these  her  motionless  navies  (or,  in  the 
true  and  mightiest  sense,  motionless  churches, 
ruled  by  pilots  on  the  Galilean  lake  of  all  the 
world),  is  to  'expect  every  man  to  do  his  duty;' 
recognising  that  duty  is  indeed  possible  no  less 
in  peace  than  war ;  and  that  if  we  can  get  men, 
for  little  pay,  to  cast  themselves  against  cannon- 
mouths  for  love  of  England,  we  may  find  men 
also  who  will  plough  and  sow  for  her,  who  will 
behave  kindly  and  righteously  for  her,  who  will 
bring  up  their  children  to  love  her,  and  who 
will  gladden  themselves  in  the  brightness  of  her 
glory,  more  than  in  all  the  light  of  tropic  skies. 
But  that  they  may  be  able  to  do  this,  she 
must  make  her  own  majesty  stainless  ;  she  must 
give  them  thoughts  of  their  home  of  which  they 
can  be  proud.  The  England  who  is  to  be  mis- 
tress of  half  the  earth,  cannot  remain  herself 
a  heap  of  cinders,  trampled  by  contending  and 
miserable  crowds  ;  she  must  yet  again  become 
the  England  she  was  once,  and  in  all  beautiful 
ways, — more :  so  happy,  so  secluded,   and  so 


I.     INAUGURAL.  39 

pure,  that  in  her  sky — polluted  by  no  unholy 
clouds — she  may  be  able  to  spell  rightly  of  every 
star  that  heaven  doth  show ;  and  in  her  fields, 
ordered  and  wide  and  fair,  of  every  herb  that 
sips    the  dew ;   and  under   the  green  avenues 
of  her  enchanted  garden,  a  sacred  Circe,  true 
Daughter  of  the  Sun,  she  must  guide  the  human 
arts,  and  gather  the  divine  knowledge,  of  distant 
nations,  transformed  from  savageness  to  man- 
hood, and  redeemed  from  despairing  into  peace. 
30.   You  think  that  an  impossible  ideal.      Be 
it  so  ;  refuse  to  accept  it  if  you  will ;  but  see 
that  you  form  your  own  in  its  stead.     All  that  I 
ask  of  you  is  to  have  a  fixed  purpose  of  some 
kind  for  your  country  and  yourselves ;  no  matter 
how  restricted,  so  that  it  be  fixed  and  unselfish. 
I  know  what  stout  hearts  are  in  you,  to  answer 
acknowledged  need  :  but  it  is  the  fatallest  form 
of  error  in  English  youths  to  hide  their  hardi- 
hood till  it  fades  for  lack  of  sunshine,  and  to 
act  in  disdain  of  purpose,  till  all  purpose  is  vain. 
It  is  not  by  deliberate,  but  by  careless  selfish- 
ness ;  not  by  compromise  with  evil,  but  by  dull 
following  of  good,  that  the  weight  of  national 
evil  increases  upon  us  daily.     Break   through 
at  least  this  pretence  of  existence ;  determine 


40  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

what  you  will  be,  and  what  you  would  win. 
You  will  not  decide  wrongly  if  you  will  resolve 
to  decide  at  all.  Were  even  the  choice  between 
lawless  pleasure  and  loyal  suffering,  you  would 
not,  I  believe,  choose  basely.  But  your  trial  is 
not  so  sharp.  It  is  between  drifting  in  confused 
wreck  among  the  castaways  of  Fortune,  who 
condemns  to  assured  ruin  those  who  know  not 
either  how  to  resist  her,  or  obey  ;  between  this, 
I  say,  and  the  taking  of  your  appointed  part  in 
the  heroism  of  Rest ;  the  resolving  to  share  in 
the  victory  which  is  to  the  weak  rather  than 
the  strong  ;  and  the  binding  yourselves  by  that 
law,  which,  thought  on  through  lingering  night 
and  labouring  day,  makes  a  man's  life  to  be  as 
a  tree  planted  by  the  water-side,  that  bringeth 
forth  his  fruit  in  his  season  ; — 

ET    FOLIUM    EJUS    NON    DEFLUET, 
ET    OMNIA,     QU^ECUNQUE     FACIET,     PROSPERA- 
BUNTUR.' 


LECTURE   II. 

THE   RELATION    OF   ART   TO    RELIGION. 

31.  It  was  stated,  and  I  trust  partly  with  your 
acceptance,  in  my  opening  lecture,  that  the 
study  on  which  we  are  about  to  enter  cannot  be 
rightly  undertaken  except  in  furtherance  of  the 
grave  purposes  of  life  with  respect  to  which  the 
rest  of  the  scheme  of  your  education  here  is 
designed.  But  you  can  scarcely  have  at  once  felt 
all  that  I  intended  in  saying  so  ; — you  cannot 
but  be  still  partly  under  the  impression  that  the 
so-called  fine  arts  are  merely  modes  of  graceful 
recreation,  and  a  new  resource  for  your  times  of 
rest.  Let  me  ask  you,  forthwith,  so  far  as  you 
can  trust  me,  to  change  your  thoughts  in  this 
matter.  All  the  great  arts  have  for  their  object 
either  the  support  or  exaltation  of  human  life, — 
usually  both  ;  and  their  dignity,  and  ultimately 
their  very  existence,  depend  on  their  being  '  /xera 
\6yov  aXrjdovs,'   that  is  to  say,  apprehending, 


42  LECTURES   ON    ART. 

with  right  reason,  the  nature  of  the  materials 
they  work  with,  of  the  things  they  relate  or  re- 
present, and  of  the  faculties  to  which  they  are 
addressed.  And  farther,  they  form  one  united 
system  from  which  it  is  impossible  to  remove 
any  part  without  harm  to  the  rest.  They  are 
founded  first  in  mastery,  by  strength  of  arm, 
of  the  earth  and  sea,  in  agriculture  and  sea- 
manship ;  then  their  inventive  power  begins, 
with  the  clay  in  the  hand  of  the  potter,  whose 
art  is  the  humblest  but  truest  type  of  the  form- 
ing of  the  human  body  and  spirit ;  and  in  the 
carpenter's  work,  which  probably  was  the  early 
employment  of  the  Founder  of  our  religion.  And 
until  men  have  perfectly  learned  the  laws  of  art 
in  clay  and  wood,  they  can  consummately  know 
no  others.  Nor  is  it  without  the  strange  signifi- 
cance which  you  will  find  in  what  at  first  seems 
chance,  in  all  noble  histories,  as  soon  as  you  can 
read  them  rightly, — that  the  statue  of  Athena 
Polias  was  of  olive-wood,  and  that  the  Greek 
temple  and  Gothic  spire  are  both  merely  the  per- 
manent representations  of  useful  wooden  struc- 
tures. On  these  two  first  arts  follow  building  in 
stone, — sculpture, — metal  work, — and  painting; 
every   art   being   properly  called  '  fine '  which 


II.     THE    RELATION    OF    ART    TO    RELIGION.     43 

demands  the  exercise  of  the  full  faculties  of  heart 
and  intellect.  For  though  the  fine  arts  are  not 
necessarily  imitative  or  representative,  for  their 
essence  is  in  being  irepl  <yeve<nv — occupied  in 
the  actual  production  of  beautiful  form  or  colour, 
— still,  the  highest  of  them  are  appointed  also 
to  relate  to  us  the  utmost  ascertainable  truth 
respecting  visible  things  and  mora,l  feelings  : 
and  this  pursuit  of  fact  is  the  vital  element  of 
the  art  power ; — that  in  which  alone  it  can 
develope  itself  to  its  utmost.  And  I  will  antici- 
pate by  an  assertion  which  you  will  at  present 
think  too  bold,  but  which  I  am  willing  that  you 
should  think  so,  in  order  that  you  may  well 
remember   it, — the   highest   thing   that   art 

CAN  DO  IS  TO  SET  BEFORE  YOU  THE  TRUE  IMAGE 
OF  THE  PRESENCE  OF  A  NOBLE  HUMAN  BEING.  It 
HAS  NEVER  DONE  MORE  THAN  THIS,  AND  IT  OUGHT 
NOT  TO  DO  LESS. 

32.  The  great  arts — forming  thus  one  perfect 
scheme  of  human  skill,  of  which  it  is  not  right 
to  call  one  division  more  honourable,  though  it 
may  be  more  subtle,  than  another — have  had, 
and  can  have,  but  three  principal  directions  of 
purpose  : — first,  that  of  enforcing  the  religion  of 
men ;  secondly,  that  of  perfecting  their  ethical 


44  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

state ;   thirdly,    that    of   doing   them   material 
service. 

33.  I  do  not  doubt  but  that  you  are  surprised 
at  my  saying  the  arts  can  in  their  second  func- 
tion only  be  directed  to  the  perfecting  of  ethical 
state,  it  being  our  usual  impression  that  they 
are  often  destructive  of  morality.  But  it  is 
impossible  to  direct  fine  art  to  an  immoral 
end,  except  by  giving  it  characters  unconnected 
with  its  fineness,  or  by  addressing  it  to  persons 
who  cannot  perceive  it  to  be  fine.  Whosoever 
recognises  it  is  exalted  by  it.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  has  been  commonly  thought  that  art 
was  a  most  fitting  means  for  the  enforcement 
of  religious  doctrines  and  emotions ;  whereas 
there  is,  as  I  must  presently  try  to  show  you, 
room  for  grave  doubt  whether  it  has  not  in 
this  function  hitherto  done  evil  rather  than 
good. 

34.  In  this  and  the  two  next  following  lec- 
tures, I  shall  endeavour  therefore  to  show  you 
the  grave  relations  of  human  art,  in  these  three 
functions,  to  human  life.  I  can  do  this  but 
roughly,  as  you  may  well  suppose — since  each  of 
these  subjects  would  require  for  its  right  treat- 
ment years  instead  of  hours.     Only,  remember, 


II.     THE    RELATION    OF   ART    TO    RELIGION.     45 

/  have  already  given  years,  not  a  few,  to  each 
of  them  ;  and  what  I  try  to  tell  you  now  will 
be  only  so  much  as  is  absolutely  necessary  to 
set  our  work  on  a  clear  foundation.  You  may 
not,  at  present,  see  the  necessity  for  any  foun- 
dation, and  may  think  that  I  ought  to  put  pencil 
and  paper  in  your  hands  at  once.  On  that 
point  I  must  simply  answer,  '  Trust  me  a  little 
while/  asking  you  however  also  to  remember, 
that — irrespectively  of  any  consideration  of  last 
or  first — my  true  function  here  is  not  that  of 
your  master  in  painting,  or  sculpture,  or  pottery; 
but  to  show  you  what  it  is  that  makes  any  of 
these  arts  fine,  or  the  contrary  of  fine:  essen- 
tially good,  or  essentially  base.  You  need  not 
fear  my  not  being  practical  enough  for  you  ;  all 
the  industry  you  choose  to  give  me,  I  will  take ; 
but  far  the  better  part  of  what  you  may  gain 
by  such  industry  would  be  lost,  if  I  did  not 
first  lead  you  to  see  what  every  form  of  art- 
industry  intends,  and  why  some  of  it  is  justly 
called  right,  and  some  wrong. 

35.  It  would  be  well  if  you  were  to  look 
over,  with  respect  to  this  matter,  the  end  of 
the  second,  and  what  interests  you  of  the  third, 
book  of  Plato's  Republic ;  noting  therein  these 


\<6  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

two  principal  things,  of  which  I  have  to  speak 
in  this  and  my  next  lecture  :  first,  the  power 
which  Plato  so  frankly,  and  quite  justly,  attri- 
butes to  art,  of  falsifying  our  conceptions  of 
Deity  :  which  power  he  by  fatal  error  partly  im- 
plies may  be  used  wisely  for  good,  and  that  the 
feigning  is  only  wrong  when  it  is  of  evil,  '  idv 
rt?  jjur)  /ca\co?  yj/eu8r]Tai ; '  and  you  may  trace 
through  all  that  follows  the  beginning  of  the 
change  of  Greek  ideal  art  into  a  beautiful  expe- 
diency, instead  of  what  it  was  in  the  days  of 
Pindar,  the  statement  of  what  '  could  not  be 
otherwise  than  so.'  But,  in  the  second  place, 
you  will  find  in  those  books  of  the  Polity,  stated 
with  far  greater  accuracy  of  expression  than  our 
English  language  admits,  the  essential  relations 
of  art  to  morality  ;  the  sum  of  these  being  given 
in  one  lovely  sentence,  which,  considering  that 
we  have  to-day  grace  done  us  by  fair  com- 
panionship,* you  will  pardon  me  for  translating. 
Must  it  be  then  only  with  our  poets  that  we  in- 
sist they  shall  either  create  for  us  the  image  of  a 
noble  morality,  or  among  us  create  none  ?  or  shall 
we  not  also  keep  guard  over  all  other  workers 

*  There   were,    in   fact,   a   great   many  more   girls   than 
University  men  at  the  lectures. 


II.    THE    RELATION    OF    ART    TO    RELIGION.       47 

for  the  people,  and  forbid  them  to  make  what  is 
ill-customed}  and  unrestrained,  and  ungentle, 
and  without  order  or  shape,  either  in  likeness  of 
living  things,  or  in  buildings,  or  in  any  other  thing 
whatsoever  that  is  made  for  the  people  ?  and 
shall  we  not  rather  seek  for  workers  who  can 

TRACK  THE  INNER  NATURE  OF  ALL  THAT  MAY  BE 

sweetly  schemed  ;  so  that  the  young  men,  as  liv- 
ing in  a  wholesome  place,  may  be  profited  by  every- 
thing that,  in  work  fairly  wrought,  may  touch 
them  through  hearing  or  sight — as  if  it  were  a 
breeze  bringing  health  to  them  from  places  strong 
for  life  ?  ' 

36.  And  now — but  one  word,  before  we  enter 
on  our  task,  as  to  the  way  you  must  understand 
what  I  may  endeavour  to  tell  you. 

Let  me  beg  you— now  and  always — not  to 
think  that  I  mean  more  than  I  say.  In  all  pro- 
bability, I  mean  just  what  I  say,  and  only  that. 
At  all  events  I  do  fully  mean  that;  and  if  there 
is  anything  reserved  in  my  mind,  it  will  be 
probably  different  from  what  you  would  guess. 
You  are  perfectly  welcome  to  know  all  that  I 
think,  as  soon  as  I  have  put  before  you  all  my 
grounds  for  thinking  it ;  but  by  the  time  I  have 
done  so,  you  will  be  able  to  form  an  opinion  of 


48  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

your  own  ;  and  mine  will  then  be  of  no  conse- 
quence to  you. 

2,7.  I  use  then  to-day,  as  I  shall  in  future  use, 
the  word  '  Religion '  as  signifying  the  feelings 
of  love,  reverence,  or  dread  with  which  the 
human  mind  is  affected  by  its  conceptions  of 
"spiritual  being  ;  and  you  know  well  how  neces- 
sary it  is,  both  to  the  Tightness  of  our  own  life, 
and  to  the  understanding  the  lives  of  others, 
that  we  should  always  keep  clearly  distinguished 
our  ideas  of  Religion,  as  thus  defined,  and  of 
Morality,  as  the  law  of  Tightness  in  human  con- 
duct. For  there  are  many  religions,  but  there 
is  only  one  morality.  There  are  moral  and  im- 
moral religions,  which  differ  as  much  in  precept 
as  in  emotion;  but  there  is  only  one  morality, 

WHICH  HAS  BEEN,  IS,  AND  MUST  BE  FOR  EVER, 
AN  INSTINCT  IN  THE  HEARTS  OF  ALL  CIVILIZED 
MEN,  AS  CERTAIN  AND  UNALTERABLE  AS  THEIR  OUT- 
WARD BODILY  FORM,  AND  WHICH  RECEIVES  FROM 
RELIGION  NEITHER  LAW,  NOR  PLACE  J  BUT  ONLY 
HOPE,  AND  FELICITY. 

38.  The  pure  forms  or  states  of  religion 
hitherto  known,  are  those  in  which  a  healthy  hu- 
manity, finding  in  itself  many  foibles  and  sins, 
has  imagined,  or  been  made  conscious  of,  the 


II.     THE    RELATION    OF    ART    TO    RELIGION.      49, 

existence  of  higher  spiritual  personality,  liable 
to  no  such  fault  or  stain ;  and  has  been  assisted 
in  effort,  and  consoled  in  pain,  by  reference  to 
the  will  or  sympathy  of  such  purer  spirits, 
whether  imagined  or  real.  I  am  compelled  to 
use  these  painful  latitudes  of  expression,  because 
no  analysis  has  hitherto  sufficed  to  distinguish 
accurately,  in  historical  narrative,  the  difference 
between  impressions  resulting  from  the  imagina- 
tion of  the  worshipper,  and  those  made,  if  any, 
by  the  actually  local  and  temporary  presence 
of  another  spirit.  For  instance,  take  the  vision, 
which  of  all  others  has  been  since  made  most 
frequently  the  subject  of  physical  representa- 
tion— the  appearance  to  Ezekiel  and  St.  John 
of  the  four  living  creatures,  which  throughout 
Christendom  have  been  used  to  symbolize  the 
Evangelists.*  Supposing  such  interpretation 
just,  one  of  those  figures  was  either  the  mere 
symbol  to  St.  John  of  himself,  or  it  was  the 
power  which  inspired  him,  manifesting  itself  in 
an  independent  form.  Which  of  these  it  wras, 
or  whether  neither  of  these,  but  a  vision  of  other 
powers,  or  a  dream,  of  which  neither  the  pro- 
phet himself  knew,  nor  can  any  other  person 

*  Only  the  Gospels,  '  IV  Evangelia,'  according  to  St.  Jerome. 

4 


50  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

yet    know,    the   interpretation, — I   suppose  no 
modestly-minded    and   accurate   thinker  would 
now  take  upon   himself  to  decide.     Nor  is  it 
therefore  anywise  necessary  for  you  to  decide 
on  that,   or  any  other  such  question  ;  but  it  is 
necessary  that  you  should   be  bold  enough  to 
look   every  opposing    question    steadily  in  its 
face ;  and  modest  enough,  having  done  so,  to 
know  when  it  is  too  hard  for  you.     But  above 
all    things,    see   that    you   be  modest    in  your 
thoughts,  for  of  this  one  thing  we  may  be  abso- 
lutely sure,  that  all  our  thoughts  are  but  de- 
grees   of  darkness.     And    in    these  days  you 
have  to  guard  against  the  fatallest  darkness  of 
the  two  opposite  Prides  ; — the  Pride  of  Faith, 
which  imagines  that  the  nature  of  the  Deity  can 
be  defined  by  its  convictions  ;  and   the  Pride 
of  Science,  which  imagines  that  the  energy  of 
Deity  can  be  explained  by  its  analysis. 

39.  Of  these,  the  first,  the  Pride  of  Faith,  is 
now,  as  it  has  been  always,  the  most  deadly, 
because  the  most  complacent  and  subtle  ; — be- 
cause it  invests  every  evil  passion  of  our  nature 
with  the  aspect  of  an  angel  of  light,  and  en- 
ables the  self-love,  which  might  otherwise  have 
been  put  to  wholesome  shame,  and  the  cruel 


II.    THE    RELATION    OF    ART    TO    RELIGION.      5 1 

carelessness  of  the  ruin  of  our  fellow-men,  which 
might  otherwise  have  been  warmed  into  human 
love,  or  at  least  checked  by  human  intelligence, 
to  congeal  themselves  into  the  mortal  intel- 
lectual disease  of  imagining  that  myriads  of  the 
inhabitants  of  the  world  for  four  thousand  years 
have  been  left  to  wander  and  perish,  many  of 
them  everlastingly,  in  order  that,  in  fulness  of 
time,  divine  truth  might  be  preached  sufficiently 
to  ourselves :  with  this  farther  ineffable  mis- 
chief for  direct  result,  that  multitudes  of  kindly- 
disposed,  gentle,  and  submissive  persons,  who 
might  else  by  their  true  patience  have  alloyed 
the  hardness  of  the  common  crowd,  and  by 
their  activity  for  good  balanced  its  misdoing, 
are  withdrawn  from  all  such  true  services  of 
man,  that  they  may  pass  the  best  part  of  their 
lives  in  what  they  are  told  is  the  service  of 
God  ;  namely,  desiring  what  they  cannot  obtain, 
lamenting  what  they  cannot  avoid,  and  reflecting 
on  what  they  cannot  understand* 

40.  This,  I  repeat,  is  the  deadliest,  but  for 
you,  under  existing  circumstances,  it  is  becom- 
ing daily,  almost  hourly,  the  least  probable  form 

*  This  concentrated  definition  of  monastic  life  is  of  course 
to  be  understood  only  of  its  more  enthusiastic  forms. 


$2  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

of  Pride.  That  which  you  have  chiefly  to  guard 
against  consists  in  the  overvaluing  of  minute 
though  correct  discovery  ;  the  groundless  denial 
of  all  that  seems  to  you  to  have  been  ground- 
lessly  affirmed  ;  and  the  interesting  yourselves 
too  curiously  in  the  progress  of  some  scientific 
minds,  which  in  their  judgment  of  the  universe 
can  be  compared  to  nothing  so  accurately  as  to 
the  woodworms  in  the  panel  of  a  picture  by  some 
great  painter,  if  we  may  conceive  them  as  tasting 
with  discrimination  of  the  wood,  and  with  re- 
pugnance of  the  colour,  and  declaring  that  even 
this  unlooked-for  and  undesirable  combination 
is  a  normal  result  of  the  action  of  molecular 
Forces. 

41.  Now,  I  must  very  earnestly  warn  you, 
in  the  beginning  of  my  work  with  you  here, 
against  allowing  either  of  these  forms  of  egotism 
to  interfere  with  your  judgment  or  practice  of 
art.  On  the  one  hand,  you  must  not  allow  the 
expression  of  your  own  favourite  religious  feel- 
ings by  any  particular  form  of  art  to  modify 
your  judgment  of  its  absolute  merit ;  nor  allow 
the  art  itself  to  become  an  illegitimate  means  of 
deepening  and  confirming  your  convictions,  by 
realizing  to  your  eyes  what  you  dimly  conceive 


II.     THE    RELATION    OF   ART    TO    RELIGION.      53 

with  the  brain ;  as  if  the  greater  clearness  of 
the  image  were  a  stronger  proof  of  its  truth. 
On  the  other  hand,  you  must  not  allow  your 
scientific  habit  of  trusting  nothing  but  what 
you  have  ascertained,  to  prevent  you  from  ap- 
preciating, or  at  least  endeavouring  to  qualify 
yourselves  to  appreciate,  the  work  of  the  high- 
est faculty  of  the  human  mind, — its  imagination, 
— when  it  is  toiling  in  the  presence  of  things 
that  cannot  be  dealt  with  by  any  other  power. 

42.  These  are  both  vital  conditions  of  your 
healthy  progress.  On  the  one  hand,  observe 
that  you  do  not  wilfully  use  the  realistic  power 
of  art  to  convince  yourselves  of  historical  or 
theological  statements  which  you  cannot  other- 
wise prove ;  and  which  you  wish  to  prove  : — 
on  the  other  hand,  that  you  do  not  check  your 
imagination  and  conscience  while  seizing  the 
truths  of  which  they  alone  are  cognizant,  be- 
cause you  value  too  highly  the  scientific  interest 
which  attaches  to  the  investigation  of  second 
causes. 

For  instance,  it  may  be  quite  possible  to  show 
the  conditions  in  water  and  electricity  which 
necessarily  produce  the  craggy  outline,  the 
apparently  self-contained  silvery  light,  and  the 


54  LECTURES    ON   ART. 

sulphurous  blue  shadow  of  a  thunder-cloud, 
and  which  separate  these  from  the  depth  of  the 
golden  peace  in  the  dawn  of  a  summer  morning. 
Similarly,  it  may  be  possible  to  show  the  neces- 
sities of  structure  which  groove  the  fangs  and 
depress  the  brow  of  the  asp,  and  which  dis- 
tinguish the  character  of  its  head  from  that  of 
the  face  of  a  young  girl.  But  it  is  the  function 
of  the  rightly-trained  imagination  to  recognise, 
in  these,  and  such  other  relative  aspects,  the 
unity  of  teaching  which  impresses,  alike  on  our 
senses  and  our  conscience,  the  eternal  difference 
between  good  and  evil :  and  the  rule,  over  the 
clouds  of  heaven  and  over  the  creatures  in  the 
earth,  of  the  same  Spirit  which  teaches  to  our 
own  hearts  the  bitterness  of  death,  and  strength 
of  love. 

43.  Now,  therefore,  approaching  our  subject 
in  this  balanced  temper,  which  will  neither  re- 
solve to  see  only  what  it  would  desire,  nor  expect 
to  see  only  what  it  can  explain,  we  shall  find 
our  enquiry  into  the  relation  of  Art  to  Religion 
is  distinctly  threefold :  first,  we  have  to  ask 
how  far  art  may  have  been  literally  directed 
by  spiritual  powers ;  secondly,  how  far,  if  not 
inspired,  it   may  have  been   exalted  by  them; 


II.     THE    RELATION    OF    ART    TO    RELIGION.      55 

lastly,  how  far,  in  any  of  its  agencies,  it  has  ad- 
vanced the  cause  of  the  creeds  it  has  been  used 
to  recommend. 

44.  First :  What  ground  have  we  for  think- 
ing that  art  has  ever  been  inspired  as  a  message 
or  revelation  ?  What  internal  evidence  is  there 
in  the  work  of  great  artists  of  their  having  been 
under  the  authoritative  guidance  of  supernatural 
powers  ? 

It  is  true  that  the  answer  to  so  mysterious  a 
question  cannot  rest  alone   upon  internal  evi- 
dence ;    but   it   is  well   that  you   should   know 
what  might,  from  that  evidence  alone,  be  con- 
cluded.    And  the  more  impartially  you  examine 
the  phenomena  of  imagination,  the  more  firmly 
you  will  be  led  to  conclude  that  they  are  the 
result  of  the  influence  of  the  common  and  vital, 
but  not,  therefore,  less  Divine,  spirit,  of  which 
some  portion  is  given  to  all  living  creatures  in 
such  manner  as  may  be  adapted  to  their  rank 
in   creation ;    and  that  everything   which   men 
rightly  accomplish   is   indeed  done   by   Divine 
help,  but  under  a  consistent  law  which  is  never 
departed  from. 

The  strength  of  this  spiritual  life  within  us 
may    be    increased    or    lessened    by    our    own 


56  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

conduct ;  it  varies,  from  time  to  time,  as  physical 
strength  varies  ;  it  is  summoned  on  different 
occasions  by  our  will,  and  dejected  by  our 
distress,  or  our  sin ;  but  it  is  always  equally 
human,  and  equally  Divine.  We  are  men,  and 
not  mere  animals,  because  a  special  form  of  it 
is  with  us  always ;  we  are  nobler  and  baser 
men,  as  it  is  with  us  more  or  less ;  but  it  is 
never  given  to  us  in  any  degree  which  can  make 
us  more  than  men. 

45.  Observe  : — -I  give  you  this  general  state- 
ment doubtfully,  and  only  as  that  towards  which 
an  impartial  reasoner  will,  I  think,  be  inclined 
by  existing  data.  But  I  shall  be  able  to  show 
you,  without  any  doubt,  in  the  course  of  our 
studies,  that  the  achievements  of  art  which 
have  been  usually  looked  upon  as  the  results  of 
peculiar  inspiration  have  been  arrived  at  only 
through  long  courses  of  wisely  directed  labour, 
and  under  the  influence  of  feelings  which  are 
common  to  all  humanity. 

But  of  these  feelings  and  powers  which  in 
different  degrees  are  common  to  humanity, 
you  are  to  note  that  there  are  three  principal 
divisions :  first,  the  instincts  of  construction 
or  melody,  which  we  share  with  lower  animals, 


II.     THE    RELATION    OF    ART    TO    RELIGION.      57 

and  which  are  in  us  as  native  as  the  instinct 
of  the  bee  or  nightingale ;  secondly,  the  faculty 
of  vision,  or  of  dreaming,  whether  in  sleep  or 
in  conscious  trance,  or  by  voluntarily  exerted 
fancy ;  and  lastly,  the  power  of  rational  infer- 
ence and  collection,  of  both  the  laws  and  forms 
of  beauty. 

46.  Now  the  faculty  of  vision,  being  closely 
associated  with  the  innermost  spiritual  nature, 
is  the  one  which  has  by  most  reasoners  been 
held  for  the  peculiar  channel  of  Divine  teaching  : 
and  it  is  a  fact  that  great  part  of  purely  didactic 
art  has  been  the  record,  whether  in  language, 
or  by  linear  representation,  of  actual  vision  in- 
voluntarily received  at  the  moment,  though  cast 
on  a  mental  retina  blanched  by  the  past  course 
of  faithful  life.  But  it  is  also  true  that  these 
visions,  where  most  distinctly  received,  are  al- 
ways— I  speak  deliberately — always,  the  sign 
of  some  mental  limitation  or  derangement ;  and 
that  the  persons  who  most  clearly  recognise 
their  value,  exaggeratedly  estimate  it,  choosing 
what  they  find  to  be  useful,  and  calling  that 
"  inspired,"  and  disregarding  what  they  perceive 
to  be  useless,  though  presented  to  the  visionary 
by  an  equal  authority. 


58  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

47.  Thus  it  is  probable  that  no  work  of  art 
has  been  more  widely  didactic  than  Albert 
Diirer's  engraving,  known  as  the  '  Knight  and 
Death.'  *  But  that  is  only  one  of  a  series  of 
works  representing  similarly  vivid  dreams,  of 
which  some  are  uninteresting,  except  for  the 
manner  of  their  representation,  as  the  '  St. 
Hubert,'  and  others  are  unintelligible ;  some, 
frightful,  and  wholly  unprofitable ;  so  that  we 
find  the  visionary  faculty  in  that  great  painter, 
when  accurately  examined,  to  be  a  morbid  in- 
fluence, abasing  his  skill  more  frequently  than 
encouraging  it,  and  sacrificing  the  greater  part 
of  his  energies  upon  vain  subjects,  two  only 
being  produced,  in  the  course  of  a  long  life* 
which  are  of  high  didactic  value,  and  both  of 
these  capable  only  of  giving  sad  courage. f 
Whatever  the  value  of  these  two,  it  bears  more 
the  aspect  of  a  treasure  obtained  at  great  cost 
of  suffering,  than  of  a  directly  granted  gift  from 
heaven. 

48.  On  the  contrary,  not  only  the  highest, 
but    the    most    consistent    results    have    been 

*  Standard  Series,  No.  9. 

f  The  meaning  of  the  '  Knight  and  Death,'  even  in  this 
rrspect,  has  lately  been  questioned  on  good  grounds. 


II.     THE    RELATION    OF    ART    TO    RELIGION.      5Q 

attained  in  art  by  men  in  whom  the  faculty  of 
vision,  however  strong,  was  subordinate  to  that 
of  deliberative  design,  and  tranquillised  by  a 
measured,  continual,  not  feverish,  but  affection- 
ate, observance  of  the  quite  unvisionary  facts 
of  the  surrounding  world. 

And  so  far  as  we  can  trace  the  connection  of 
their  powers  with  the  moral  character  of  their 
lives,  we  shall  find  that  the  best  art  is  the  work 
of  good,  but  of  not  distinctively  religious  men, 
who,  at  least,  are  conscious  of  no  inspiration, 
and  often  so  unconscious  of  their  superiority 
to  others,  that  one  of  the  greatest  of  them, 
Reynolds,  deceived  by  his  modesty,  has  as- 
serted that  'all  things  are  possible  to  well- 
directed  labour.' 

49.  The  second  question,  namely,  how  far 
art,  if  not  inspired,  has  yet  been  ennobled  by 
religion,  I  shall  not  touch  upon  to-day ;  for  it 
both  requires  technical  criticism,  and  would 
divert  you  too  long  from  the  main  question  of 
all,— How  far  religion  has  been  helped  by  art  ? 

You  will  find  that  the  operation  of  formative 
art—  (I  will  not  speak  to-day  of  music) — the 
operation  of  formative  art  on  religious  creed  is 
essentially  twofold ;  the  realisation,  to  the  eyes, 


60  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

of  imagined  spiritual  persons ;  and  the  limita- 
tion of  their  imagined  presence  to  certain  places. 
We  will  examine  these  two  functions  of  it  suc- 
cessively. 

50.  And  first,  consider  accurately  what  the 
agency  of  art  is,  in  realising,  to  the  sight,  our 
conceptions  of  spiritual  persons. 

For  instance.  Assume  that  we  believe  that 
the  Madonna  is  always  present  to  hear  and 
answer  our  prayers.  Assume  also  that  this  is 
true.  1  think  that  persons  in  a  perfectly  honest, 
faithful,  and  humble  temper,  would  in  that  case 
desire  only  to  feel  so  much  of  the  Divine  pre- 
sence as  the  spiritual  Power  herself  chose  to 
make  felt ;  and,  above  all  things,  not  to  think 
they  saw,  or  knew,  anything  except  what  might 
be  truly  perceived  or  known. 

But  a  mind  imperfectly  faithful,  and  impatient 
in  its  distress,  or  craving  in  its  dulness  for  a 
more  distinct  and  convincing  sense  of  the  Divi- 
nity, would  endeavour  to  complete,  or  perhaps 
we  should  rather  say  to  contract,  its  conception, 
into  the  definite  figure  of  a  woman  wearing  a 
blue  or  crimson  dress,  and  having  fair  features, 
dark  eyes,  and  gracefully  arranged  hair. 

Suppose,   after  forming  such  a   conception, 


II.     THE    RELATION    OF   ART    TO    RELIGION.      6 1 

that  we  have  the  power  to  realise  and  preserve 
it,  this  image  of  a  beautiful  figure  with  a  plea- 
sant expression  cannot  but  have  the  tendency 
of  afterwards  leading  us  to  think  of  the  Virgin 
as  present,  when  she  is  not  actually  present ; 
or  as  pleased  with  us,  when  she  is  not  actually 
pleased ;  or  if  we  resolutely  prevent  ourselves 
from  such  imagination,  nevertheless  the  exist- 
ence of  the  image  beside  us  will  often  turn 
our  thoughts  towards  subjects  of  religion,  when 
otherwise  they  would  have  been  differently  oc- 
cupied ;  and,  in  the  midst  of  other  occupations, 
will  familiarise  more  or  less,  and  even  mechani- 
cally associate  with  common  or  faultful  states 
of  mind,  the  appearance  of  the  supposed  Divine 
person. 

51.  There  are  thus  two  distinct  operations 
upon  our  mind  :  first,  the  art  makes  us  believe 
what  we  would  not  otherwise  have  believed ; 
and  secondly,  it  makes  us  think  of  subjects  we 
should  not  otherwise  have  thought  of,  intruding 
them  amidst  our  ordinary  thoughts  in  a  con- 
fusing and  familiar  manner.  We  cannot  with 
any  certainty  affirm  the  advantage  or  the  harm 
of  such  accidental  pieties,  for  their  effect  will 
be  very  different  on  different  characters  :  but, 


62  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

without  any  question,  the  art,  which  makes  us 
believe  what  we  would  not  have  otherwise  be- 
lieved, is  misapplied,  and  in  most  instances  very 
dangerously  so.  Our  duty  is  to  believe  in  the 
existence  of  Divine,  or  any  other,  persons,  only 
upon  rational  proofs  of  their  existence;  and  not 
because  we  have  seen  pictures  of  them.* 

52.  But  now  observe,  it  is  here  necessary 
to  draw  a  distinction,  so  subtle  that  in  dealing 
with  facts  it  is  continually  impossible  to  mark 
it  with  precision,  yet  so  vital,  that  not  only 
your  understanding  of  the  power  of  art,  but  the 
working  of  your  minds  in  matters  of  primal 
moment  to  you,  depends  on  the  effort  you  make 
to  affirm  this  distinction  strongly.  The  art 
which  realises  a  creature  of  the  imagination  is 
only  mischievous  when  that  realisation  is  con- 
ceived to  imply,  or  does  practically  induce  a 
belief  in,  the  real  existence  of  the  imagined  per- 
sonage, contrary  to,  or  unjustified  by  the  other 
evidence  of  its  existence.      But  if  the  art  only 

*  I  have  expunged  a  sentence  insisting  farther  on  this 
point,  having  come  to  reverence  more,  as  I  grew  older,  every 
simple  means  of  stimulating  all  religious  belief  and  affection. 
It  is  the  lower  and  realistic  world  which  is  fullest  of  false 
beliefs  and  vain  loves. 


II.     THE    RELATION    OF    ART    TO    RELIGION.     6$ 

represents  the  personage  on  the  understanding 
that  its  form  is  imaginary,  then  the  effort  at 
realisation  is  healthful  and  beneficial. 

For  instance,  the  Greek  design  of  Apollo 
crossing  the  sea  to  Delphi,  which  is  one  of  the 
most  interesting  of  Le  Normand's  series,  so  far 
as  it  is  only  an  expression,  under  the  symbol 
of  a  human  form,  of  what  may  be  rightly  ima- 
gined respecting  the  solar  power,  is  right  and 
ennobling ;  but  so  far  as  it  conveyed  to  the 
Greek  the  idea  of  there  being  a  real  Apollo,  it 
was  mischievous,  whether  there  be,  or  be  not, 
a  real  Apollo.  If  there  is  no  real  Apollo,  then 
the  art  was  mischievous  because  it  deceived  ; 
but  if  there  is  a  real  Apollo,  then  it  was  still 
more  mischievous,*  for  it  not  only  began  the 
degradation  of  the  image  of  that  true  god  into 
a  decoration  for  niches,  and  a  device  for  seals ; 
but  prevented  any  true  witness  being  borne 
to  his  existence.  For  if  the  Greeks,  instead  of 
multiplying  representations  of  what  they  ima- 
gined to  be  the  figure  of  the  god,  had  given 
us  accurate  drawings  of  the  heroes  and  battles 
of  Marathon  and  Salamis,  and  had  simply  told 

*  I  am  again  doubtful,  here.     The  most  important  part  of 
the  chapter  is  from  §  60  to  end. 


64  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

us  in  plain  Greek  what  evidence  they  had  of 
the  power  of  Apollo,  either  through  his  oracles, 
his  help  or  chastisement,  or  by  immediate  vision, 
they  would  have  served  their  religion  more  truly 
than  by  all  the  vase-paintings  and  fine  statues 
that  ever  were  buried  or  adored. 

53.  Now  in  this  particular  instance,  and  in 
many  other  examples  of  fine  Greek  art,  the  two 
conditions  of  thought,  symbolic  and  realistic, 
are  mingled ;  and  the  art  is  helpful,  as  I  will 
hereafter  show  you,  in  one  function,  and  in  the 
other  so  deadly,  that  I  think  no  degradation  of 
conception  of  Deity  has  ever  been  quite  so  base 
as  that  implied  by  the  designs  of  Greek  vases 
in  the  period  of  decline,  say  about  250  b.c. 

But  though  among  the  Greeks  it  is  thus 
nearly  always  difficult  to  say  what  is  symbolic 
and  what  realistic,  in  the  range  of  Christian  art 
the  distinction  is  clear.  In  that,  a  vast  divi- 
sion of  imaginative  work  is  occupied  in  the 
symbolism  of  virtues,  vices,  or  natural  powers 
or  passions ;  and  in  the  representation  of  per- 
sonages who,  though  nominally  real,  become  in 
conception  symbolic.  In  the  greater  part  of 
this  work  there  is  no  intention  of  implying  the 
existence  of  the  represented  creature ;  Diirer's 


II.     THE    RELATION    OF    ART    TO    RELIGION.     65 

Melencolia  and  Giotto's  Justice  are  accurately 
characteristic  examples.  Now  all  such  art  is 
wholly  good  and  useful  when  it  is  the  work  of 
good  men. 

54.  Again,  there  is  another  division  of  Chris- 
tian work  in  which  the  persons  represented, 
though  nominally  real,  are  treated  as  dramatis- 
personae  of  a  poem,  and  so  presented  confessedly 
as  subjects  of  imagination.  All  this  poetic  art 
is  also  good  when  it  is  the  work  of  good  men. 

55.  There  remains  only  therefore  to  be  con- 
sidered, as  truly  religious,  the  work  which  defi- 
nitely implies  and  modifies  the  conception  of 
the  existence  of  a  real  person.  There  is  hardly 
any  great  art  which  entirely  belongs  to  this 
class ;  but  Raphael's  Madonna  della  Seggiola 
is  as  accurate  a  type  of  it  as  I  can  give  you  ; 
Holbein's  Madonna  at  Dresden,  the  Madonna 
di  San  Sisto,  and  the  Madonna  of  Titian's  As- 
sumption, all  belong  mainly  to  this  class,  but 
are  removed  somewhat  from  it  (as,  I  repeat, 
nearly  all  great  art  is)  into  the  poetical  one. 
It  is  only  the  bloody  crucifixes  and  gilded  vir- 
gins and  other  such  lower  forms  of  imagery  (by 
which,  to  the  honour  of  the  English  Church,  it 
has  been  truly  claimed  for  her,  that  '  she  has 

5     • 


66  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

never  appealed  to  the  madness  or  dulness  of 
her  people,')  which  belong  to  the  realistic  class 
in  strict  limitation,  and  which  properly  consti- 
tute the  type  of  it. 

There  is  indeed  an  important  school  of  sculp- 
ture in  Spain,  directed  to  the  same  objects,  but 
not  demanding  at  present  any  special  attention. 
And  finally,  there  is  the  vigorous  and  most  in- 
teresting realistic  school  of  our  own,  in  modern 
times,  mainly  known  to  the  public  by  Holman 
Hunt's  picture  of  the  Light  of  the  World, 
though,  I  believe,  deriving  its  first  origin  from 
the  genius  of  the  painter  to  whom  you  owe  also 
the  revival  of  interest,  first  here  in  Oxford,  and 
then  universally,  in  the  cycle  of  early  English 
legend. —  Dante  Rossetti. 

56.  The  effect  of  this  realistic  art  on  the  reli- 
gious mind  of  Europe  varies  in  scope  more  than 
any  other  art  power ;  for  in  its  higher  branches 
it  touches  the  most  sincere  religious  minds,  af- 
fecting an  earnest  class  of  persons  who  cannot 
be  reached  by  merely  poetical  design ;  while, 
in  its  lowest,  it  addresses  itself  not  only  to  the 
most  vulgar  desires  for  religious  excitement, 
but  to  the  mere  thirst  for  sensation  of  horror 
which  characterises  the  uneducated  orders  of 


II.     THE    RELATION    OF    ART    TO    RELIGION.     6y 

partially  civilised  countries ;  nor  merely  to  the 
thirst  for  horror,  but  to  the  strange  love  of 
death,  as  such,  which  has  sometimes  in  Catholic 
countries  showed  itself  peculiarly  by  the  en- 
deavour to  paint  the  images  in  the  chapels  of 
the  Sepulchre  so  as  to  look  deceptively  like 
corpses.  The  same  morbid  instinct  has  also 
affected  the  minds  of  many  among  the  more 
imaginative  and  powerful  artists  with  a  feverish 
gloom  which  distorts  their  finest  work ;  and 
lastly — and  this  is  the  worst  of  all  its  effects — it 
has  occupied  the  sensibility  of  Christian  women, 
universally,  in  lamenting  the  sufferings  of  Christ, 
instead  of  preventing  those  of  His  people. 

57.  When  any  of  you  next  go  abroad,  ob- 
serve, and  consider  the  meaning  of,  the  sculp- 
tures and  paintings,  which  of  every  rank  in  art, 
and  in  every  chapel  and  cathedral,  and  by  every 
mountain  path,  recall  the  hours,  and  represent 
the  agonies,  of  the  Passion  of  Christ :  and  try 
to  form  some  estimate  of  the  efforts  that  have 
been  made  by  the  four  arts  of  eloquence,  music, 
painting,  and  sculpture,  since  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury, to  wring  out  of  the  hearts  of  women  the 
last  drops  of  pity  that  could  be  excited  for  this 
merely  physical  agony :  for  the  art  nearly  always 


68  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

dwells  on  the  physical  wounds  or  exhaustion 
chiefly,  and  degrades,  far  more  than  it  animates, 
the  conception  of  pain. 

Then  try  to  conceive  the  quantity  of  time, 
and  of  excited  and  thrilling  emotion,  which  have 
been  wasted  by  the  tender  and  delicate  women 
of  Christendom  during  these  last  six  hundred 
years,  in  thus  picturing  to  themselves,  under 
the  influence  of  such  imagery,  the  bodily  pain, 
long  since  passed,  of  One  Person  : — which,  so 
far  as  they  indeed  conceived  it  to  be  sustained 
by  a  Divine  Nature,  could  not  for  that  reason 
have  been  less  endurable  than  the  agonies  of 
any  simple  human  death  by  torture :  and  then 
try  to  estimate  what  might  have  been  the  better 
result,  for  the  righteousness  and  felicity  of  man- 
kind, if  these  same  women  had  been  taught  the 
deep  meaning  of  the  last  words  that  were  ever 
spoken  by  their  Master  to  those  who  had  mini- 
stered to  Him  of  their  substance :  '  Daughters 
of  Jerusalem,  weep  not  for  me,  but  weep  for 
yourselves,  and  for  your  children.'  If  they  had 
but  been  taught  to  measure  with  their  pitiful 
thoughts  the  tortures  of  battle-fields — the  slowly 
consuming  plagues  of  death  in  the  starving 
children,  and  wasted  age,  of  the  innumerable 


II.     THE    RELATION    OF    ART    TO    RELIGION.     69 

desolate  those  battles  left ; — nay,  in  our  own  life 
of  peace,  the  agony  of  unnurtured,  untaught, 
unhelped  creatures,  awaking  at  the  grave's  edge 
to  know  how  they  should  have  lived ;  and  the 
worse  pain  of  those  whose  existence,  not  the 
ceasing  of  it,  is  death  ;  those  to  whom  the  cradle 
was  a  curse,  and  for  whom  the  words  they  can- 
not hear,  '  ashes  to  ashes,'  are  all  that  they  have 
ever  received  of  benediction.  These, — you  who 
would  fain  have  wept  at  His  feet,  or  stood  by 
His  cross, — these  you  have  always  with  you  ! 
Him,  you  have  not  always. 

58.  The  wretched  in  death  you  have  always 
with  you.  Yes,  and  the  brave  and  good  in 
life  you  have  always  ; — these  also  needing  help, 
though  you  supposed  they  had  only  to  help 
others;  these  also  claiming  to  be  thought  for, 
and  remembered.  And  you  will  find,  if  you 
look  into  history  with  this  clue,  that  one  of  quite 
the  chief  reasons  for  the  continual  misery  of 
mankind  is  that  they  are  always  divided  in 
their  worship  between  angels  or  saints,  who 
are  out  of  their  sight,  and  need  no  help,  and 
proud  and  evil-minded  men,  who  are  too  de- 
finitely in  their  sight,  and  ought  not  to  have 
their  help.    And  consider  how  the  arts  have  thus 


JO  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

followed  the  worship  of  the  crowd.  You  have 
paintings  of  saints  and  angels,  innumerable ; — 
of  petty  courtiers,  and  contemptible  or  cruel 
kings,  innumerable.  Few,  how  few  you  have, 
(but  these,  observe,  almost  always  by  great 
painters)  of  the  best  men,  or  of  their  actions. 
But  think  for  yourselves, — I  have  no  time  now 
to  enter  upon  the  mighty  field,  nor  imagination 
enough  to  guide  me  beyond  the  threshold  of  it, 
— think,  what  history  might  have  been  to  us 
now ; — nay,  what  a  different  history  that  of  all 
Europe  might  have  become,  if  it  had  but  been 
the  object  both  of  the  people  to  discern,  and  of 
their  arts  to  honour  and  bear  record  of,  the 
great  deeds  of  their  worthiest  men.  And  if, 
instead  of  living,  as  they  have  always  hitherto 
done,  in  a  hellish  cloud  of  contention  and  re- 
venge, lighted  by  fantastic  dreams  of  cloudy 
sanctities,  they  had  sought  to  reward  and  punish 
justly,  wherever  reward  and  punishment  were 
due,  but  chiefly  to  reward ;  and  at  least  rather 
to  bear  testimony  to  the  human  acts  which 
deserved  God's  anger  or  His  blessing,  than 
only,  in  presumptuous  imagination,  to  display 
the  secrets  of  Judgment,  or  the  beatitudes  of 
Eternity. 


II.     THE    RELATION    OF   ART    TO    RELIGION.     7 1 

59.  Such  I  conceive  generally,  though  indeed 
with  good  arising  out  of  it,  for  every  great  evil 
brings  some  good  in  its  backward  eddies — 
such  I  conceive  to  have  been  the  deadly  func- 
tion of  art  in  its  ministry  to  what,  whether  in 
heathen  or  Christian  lands,  and  whether  in  the 
pageantry  of  words,  or  colours,  or  fair  forms, 
is  truly,  and  in  the  deep  sense,  to  be  called 
(idolatry) — the  serving  with  the  best  of  our 
hearts  and  minds,  some  dear  or  sad  fantasy 
which  we  have  made  for  ourselves,  while  we 
disobey  the  present  call  of  the  Master,  who  is 
not  dead,  and  who  is  not  now  fainting  under 
His  cross,  but  requiring  us  to  take  up  ours. 

60.  I  pass  to  the  second  great  function  of 
religious  art,  the  limitation  of  the  idea  of  Divine 
presence  to  particular  localities.  It  is  of  course 
impossible  within  my  present  limits  to  touch 
upon  this  power  of  art,  as  employed  on  the 
temples  of  the  gods  of  various  religions ;  we 
will  examine  that  on  future  occasions.  To-day, 
I  want  only  to  map  out  main  ideas,  and  I  can 
do  this  best  by  speaking  exclusively  of  this 
localising  influence  as  it  affects  our  own  faith. 

Observe  first,  that  the  localisation  is  almost 
entirely  dependent  upon  human  art.     You  must 


72  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

at  least  take  a  stone  and  set  it  up  for  a  pillar, 
if  you  are  to  mark  the  place,  so  as  to  know  it 
again,  where  a  vision  appeared.  A  persecuted 
people,  needing  to  conceal  their  places  of  wor- 
ship, may  perform  every  religious  ceremony  first 
under  one  crag  of  the  hill-side,  and  then  under 
another,  without  invalidating  the  sacredness  of 
the  rites  or  sacraments  thus  administered.  It 
is,  therefore,  we  all  acknowledge,  inessential, 
that  a  particular  spot  should  be  surrounded  with 
a  ring  of  stones,  or  enclosed  within  walls  of  a 
certain  style  of  architecture,  and  so  set  apart  as 
the  only  place  where  such  ceremonies  may  be 
properly  performed ;  and  it  is  thus  less  by  any 
direct  appeal  to  experience  or  to  reason,  but  in 
consequence  of  the  effect  upon  our  senses  pro- 
duced by  the  architecture,  that  we  receive  the 
first  strong  impressions  of  what  we  afterwards 
contend  for  as  absolute  truth.  I  particularly 
wish  you  to  notice  how  it  is  always  by  help  of 
human  art  that  such  a  result  is  attained,  because, 
remember  always,  I  am  neither  disputing  nor 
asserting  the  truth  of  any  theological  doctrine  ; 
—that  is  not  my  province  ; — I  am  only  question- 
ing the  expiedency  of  enforcing  that  doctrine  by 
the   help  of  architecture.      Put   a  rough  stone 


II.     THE    RELATION    OF    ART    TO    RELIGION,      "j '3 

for  an  altar  under  the  hawthorn  on  a  village 
green  ; — separate  a  portion  of  the  green  itself 
with  an  ordinary  paling  from  the  rest ; — then 
consecrate,  with  whatever  form  you  choose,  the 
space  of  grass  you  have  enclosed,  and  meet 
within  the  wooden  fence  as  often  as  you  desire 
to  pray  or  preach  ;  yet  you  will  not  easily  fasten 
an  impression  in  the  minds  of  the  villagers,  that 
God  inhabits  the  space  of  grass  inside  the  fence, 
and  does  not  extend  His  presence  to  the  common 
beyond  it :  and  that  the  daisies  and  violets  on 
one  side  of  the  railing  are  holy, — on  the  other, 
profane.  But,  instead  of  a  wooden  fence,  build 
a  wall,  pave  the  interior  space ;  roof  it  over,  so 
as  to  make  it  comparatively  dark  ; — and  you 
may  persuade  the  villagers  with  ease  that  you 
have  built  a  house  which  Deity  inhabits,  or  that 
you  have  become,  in  the  old  French  phrase,  a 
'  logeur  du  Bon  Dieu.' 

61.  And  farther,  though  I  have  no  desire  to 
introduce  any  question  as  to  the  truth  of  what 
we  thus  architecturally  teach,  I  would  desire 
you  most  strictly  to  determine  what  is  intended 
to  be  taught. 

Do  not  think  I  underrate — I  am  among  the 
last    men    living    who   would    underrate,— the 


74  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

importance  of  the  sentiments  connected  with 
their  church  to  the  population  of  a  pastoral  vil- 
lage. I  admit,  in  its  fullest  extent,  the  moral 
value  of  the  scene,  which  is  almost  always  one 
of  perfect  purity  and  peace  ;  and  of  the  sense  of 
supernatural  love  and  protection,  which  fills  and 
surrounds  the  low  aisles  and  homely  porch.  But 
the  question  I  desire  earnestly  to  leave  with  you 
is,  whether  all  the  earth  ought  not  to  be  peace- 
ful and  pure,  and  the  acknowledgment  of  the 
Divine  protection,  as  universal  as  its  reality  ? 
That  in  a  mysterious  way  the  presence  of  Deity 
is  vouchsafed  where  it  is  sought,  and  withdrawn 
where  it  is  forgotten,  must  of  course  be  granted 
as  the  first  postulate  in  the  enquiry  :  but  the 
point  for  our  decision  is  just  this,  whether  it 
ought  always  to  be  sought  in  one  place  only, 
and  forgotten  in  every  other. 

It  may  be  replied,  that  since  it  is  impossible 
to  consecrate  the  entire  space  of  the  earth,  it  is 
better  thus  to  secure  a  portion  of  it  than  none : 
but  surely,  if  so,  we  ought  to  make  some  effort 
to  enlarge  the  favoured  ground,  and  even  look 
forward  to  a  time  when  in  English  villages  there 
may  be  a  God's  acre  tenanted  by  the  living,  not 
the  dead ;  and  when  we  shall  rather  look  with 


II.     THE    RELATION    OF   ART    TO    RELIGION.     75 

aversion  and  fear  to  the  remnant  of  ground  that 
is  set  apart  as  profane,  than  with  reverence  to  a 
narrow  portion  of  it  enclosed  as  holy. 

62.  But  now,  farther.  Suppose  it  be  ad- 
mitted that  by  enclosing  ground  with  walls,  and 
performing  certain  ceremonies  there  habitually, 
some  kind  of  sanctity  is  indeed  secured  within 
that  space, — still  the  question  remains  open 
whether  it  be  advisable  for  religious  purposes 
to  decorate  the  enclosure.  For  separation  the 
mere  walls  would  be  enough.  What  is  the 
purpose  of  your  decoration  ? 

Let  us  take  an  instance — the  most  noble 
with  which  I  am  acquainted,  the  Cathedral  of 
Chartres.  You  have  there  the  most  splendid 
coloured  glass,  and  the  richest  sculpture,  and 
the  grandest  proportions  of  building,  united  to 
produce  a  sensation  of  pleasure  and  awe.  We 
profess  that  this  is  to  honour  the  Deity ;  or,  in 
other  words,  that  it  is  pleasing  to  Him  that  we 
should  delight  our  eyes  with  blue  and  golden 
colours,  and  solemnise  our  spirits  by  the  sight 
of  large  stones  laid  one  on  another,  and  in- 
geniously carved. 

63.   I  do  not  think  it  can  be  doubted  that  it 
is  pleasing  to  Him  when  we  do  this ;  for  He 


?6  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

has  Himself  prepared  for  us,  nearly  every  morn- 
ing and  evening,  windows  painted  with  Divine 
art,  in  blue  and  gold  and  vermilion  :  windows 
lighted  from  within  by  the  lustre  of  that  heaven 
which  we  may  assume,  at  least  with  more  cer- 
tainty than  any  consecrated  ground,  to  be  one 
of  His  dwelling-places.  Again,  in  every  moun- 
tain side,  and  cliff  of  rude  sea  shore,  He  has 
heaped  stones  one  upon  another  of  greater 
magnitude  than  those  of  Chartres  Cathedral, 
and  sculptured  them  with  floral  ornament, — 
surely  not  less  sacred  because  living  ? 

64.  Must  it  not  then  be  only  because  we  love 
our  own  work  better  than  His,  that  we  respect 
the  lucent  glass,  but  not  the  lucent  clouds;  that 
we  weave  embroidered  robes  with  ingenious 
fingers,  and  make  bright  the  gilded  vaults  we 
have  beautifully  ordained — while  yet  we  have 
not  considered  the  heavens,  the  work  of  His 
fingers,  nor  the  stars  of  the  strange  vault  which 
He  has  ordained  ?  And  do  we  dream  that  by 
carving  fonts  and  lifting  pillars  in  His  honour, 
who  cuts  the  way  of  the  rivers  among  the  rocks, 
and  at  whose  reproof  the  pillars  of  the  earth 
are  astonished,  we  shall  obtain  pardon  for  the 
dishonour  done   to   the   hills    and    streams   by 


II.    THE    RELATION    OF    ART    TO    RELIGION.         JJ 

which  He  has  appointed  our  dwelling-place ; — 
for  the  infection  of  their  sweet  air  with  poison  ; 
— for  the  burning  up  of  their  tender  grass  and 
flowers  with  fire,  and  for  spreading  such  a 
shame  of  mixed  luxury  and  misery  over  our 
native  land,  as  if  we  laboured  only  that,  at  least 
here  in  England,  we  might  be  able  to  give  the 
lie  to  the  song,  whether  of  the  Cherubim  above, 
or  Church  beneath — '  Holy,  holy,  Lord  God  of 
all  creatures;  Heaven — and  Earth — are  full  of 
Thy  glory '  ? 

65.  And  how  much  more  there  is  that  I  long 
to  say  to  you ;  and  how  much,  I  hope,  that  you 
would  like  to  answer  to  me,  or  to  question  me 
of!  But  I  can  say  no  more  to-day.  We  are 
not,  I  trust,  at  the  end  of  our  talks  or  thoughts 
together ;  but,  if  it  were  so,  and  I  never  spoke 
to  you  more,  this  that  I  have  said  to  you  I 
should  have  been  glad  to  have  been  permitted 
to  say;  and  this,  farther,  which  is  the  sum  of 
it, — That  we  may  have  splendour  of  art  again, 
and  with  that,  we  may  truly  praise  and  honour 
our  Maker,  and  with  that  set  forth  the  beauty 
and  holiness  of  all  that  He  has  made  :  but  only 
after  we  have  striven  with  our  whole  hearts 
first  to  sanctify  the  temple  of  the  body  and  spirit 


?8  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

of  every  child  that  has  no  roof  to  cover  its  head 
from  the  cold,  and  no  walls  to  guard  its  soul 
from  corruption,  in  this  our  English  land. 

One  word  more. 

What  I  have  suggested  hitherto,  respecting 
the  relations  of  Art  to  Religion,  you  must  re- 
ceive throughout  as  merely  motive  of  thought ; 
though  you  must  have  well  seen  that  my  own 
convictions  were  established  finally  on  some  of 
the  points  in  question.  But  I  must,  in  conclu- 
sion, tell  you  something  that  I  know; — which, 
if  you  truly  labour,  you  will  one  day  know  also ; 
and  which  I  trust  some  of  you  will  believe,  now. 

During  the  minutes  in  which  you  have  been 
listening  to  me,  I  suppose  that  almost  at  every 
other  sentence  those  whose  habit  of  mind  has 
been  one  of  veneration  for  established  forms 
and  faiths,  must  have  been  in  dread  that  I  was 
about  to  say,  or  in  pang  of  regret  at  my  having 
said,  what  seemed  to  them  an  irreverent  or  reck- 
less word  touching  vitally  important  things. 

So  far  from  this  being  the  fact,  it  is  just  be- 
cause the  feelings  that  I  most  desire  to  cultivate 
in  your  minds  are  those  of  reverence  and  ad- 
miration, that  I  am  so  earnest  to  prevent  you 
from  being  moved  to  either  by  trivial  or  false 


II.     THE    RELATION    OF   ART    TO    RELIGION.      79 

semblances.  This  is  the  thing  which  I  know — 
and  which,  if  you  labour  faithfully,  you  shall 
know  also, — that  in  Reverence  is  the  chief  joy 
and  power  of  life  ; — Reverence,  for  what  is  pure 
and  bright  in  your  own  youth;  for  what  is  true 
and  tried  in  the  age  of  others;  for  all  that  is 
gracious  among  the  living, — great  among  the 
dead,^-and  marvellous,  in  the  Powers  that 
cannot  die. 


LECTURE   III. 

THE    RELATION    OF    ART    TO    MORALS. 

66.  You  probably  recollect  that,  in  the  begin- 
ning of  my  last  lecture,  it  was  stated  that  fine 
art  had,  and  could  have,  but  three  functions  : 
the  enforcing  of  the  religious  sentiments  of  men, 
the  perfecting  their  ethical  state,  and  the  doing 
them  material  service.  We  have  to-day  to  ex- 
amine, the  mode  of  its  action  in  the  second 
power — that  of  perfecting  the  morality,  or 
ethical  state,  of  men. 

Perfecting,  observe — not  producing. 

You  must  have  the  right  moral  state  first,  or 
you  cannot  have  the  art.  But  when  the  art  is 
once  obtained,  its  reflected  action  enhances  and 
completes  the  moral  state  out  of  which  it  arose, 
and,  above  all,  communicates  the  exultation  to 
other  minds  which  are  already  morally  capable 
of  the  like. 

67.  For  instance,  take  the  art  of  singing,  and 


III.    THE    RELATION    OF   ART   TO    MORALS.       8 1 

the  simplest  perfect  master  of  it  (up  to  the  limits 
of  his  nature)  whom  you  can  find  ; — a  skylark. 
From  him  you  may  learn  what  it  is  to  '  sing  for 
joy.'  You  must  get  the  moral  state  first,  the 
pure  gladness,  then  give  it  finished  expression  ; 
and  it  is  perfected  in  itself,  and  made  commu- 
nicable to  other  creatures  capable  of  such  joy. 
But  it  is  incommunicable  to  those  who  are  not 
prepared  to  receive  it. 

Now,  all  right  human  song  is,  similarly,  the 
finished  expression,  by  art,  of  the  joy  or  grief  of 
noble  persons,  for  right  causes.  And  accurately 
in  proportion  to  the  Tightness  of  the  cause,  and 
purity  of  the  emotion,  is  the  possibility  of  the 
fine  art.  A  maiden  may  sing  of  her  lost  love, 
but  a  miser  cannot  sing  of  his  lost  money.  And 
with  absolute  precision,  from  highest  to  lowest, 
the  fineness  of  the  possible  art  is  an  index  of 
the  moral  purity  and  majesty  of  the  emotion  it  ex- 
presses. You  may  test  it  practically  at  any 
instant.  Question  with  yourselves  respecting 
any  feeling  that  has  taken  strong  possession  of 
your  mind,  '  Could  this  be  sung  by  a  master,  and 
sung  nobly,  with  a  true  melody  and  art  ?  '  Then 
it  is  a  right  feeling.  Could  it  not  be  sung  at 
all,  or  only  sung  ludicrously  ?     It  is  a  base  one. 

6 


82  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

And  that  is  so  in  all  the  arts;  so  that  with 
mathematical  precision,  subject  to  no  error  or 
exception,  the  art  of  a  nation,  so  far  as  it  exists, 
is  an  exponent  of  its  ethical  state. 

68.  An  exponent,  observe,  and  exalting  influ- 
ence ;  but  not  the  root  or  cause.  You  cannot 
paint  or  sing  yourselves  into  being  good  men ; 
you  must  be  good  men  before  you  can  either 
paint  or  sing,  and  then  the  colour  and  sound 
will  complete  in  you  all  that  is  best. 

And  this  it  was  that  I  called  upon  you  to 
hear,  saying,  '  listen  to  me  at  least  now,'  in  the 
first  lecture,  namely,  that  no  art-teaching  could 
be  of  use  to  you,  but  would  rather  be  harmful, 
unless  it  was  grafted  on  something  deeper  than 
all  art.  For  indeed  not  only  with  this,  of  which 
it  is  my  function  to  show  you  the  laws,  but 
much  more  with  the  art  of  all  men,  which  you 
came  here  chiefly  to  learn,  that  of  language, 
the  chief  vices  of  education  have  arisen  from 
the  one  great  fallacy  of  supposing  that  noble 
language  is  a  communicable  trick  of  grammar 
and  accent,  instead  of  simply  the  careful  ex- 
pression of  right  thought.  All  the  virtues  of 
language  are,  in  their  roots,  moral ;  it  becomes 
accurate  if  the  speaker  desires  to  be  true ;  clear, 


III.     THE    RELATION    OF   ART   TO    MORALS.       8$ 

if  he  speaks  with  sympathy  and  a  desire  to  be 
intelligible ;  powerful,  if  he  has  earnestness ; 
pleasant,  if  he  has  sense  of  rhythm  and  order. 
There  are  no  other  virtues  of  language  produ- 
cible by  art  than  these :  but  let  me  mark  more 
deeply  for  an  instant  the  significance  of  one  of 
them.  Language,  I  said,  is  only  clear  when  it 
is  sympathetic.  You  can,  in  truth,  understand  a 
man's  word  only  by  understanding  his  temper. 
Your  own  word  is  also  as  of  an  unknown  tongue 
to  him  unless  he  understands  yours.  And  it  is 
this  which  makes  the  art  of  language,  if  any  one 
is  to  be  chosen  separately  from  the  rest,  that 
which  is  fittest  for  the  instrument  of  a  gentle- 
man's education.  To  teach  the  meaning  of  a 
word  thoroughly,  is  to  teach  the  nature  of  the 
spirit  that  coined  it ;  the  secret  of  language  is 
the  secret  of  sympathy,  and  its  full  charm  is 
possible  only  to  the  gentle.  And  thus  the  prin- 
ciples of  beautiful  speech  have  all  been  fixed  by 
sincere  and  kindly  speech.  On  the  laws  which 
have  been  determined  by  sincerity,  false  speech, 
apparently  beautiful,  may  afterwards  be  con- 
structed ;  but  all  such  utterance,  whether  in 
oration  or  poetry,  is  not  only  without  permanent 
power,  but  it  is  destructive  of  the  principles  it 


) 


84  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

has  usurped.  So  long  as  no  words  are  uttered 
but  in  faithfulness,  so  long  the  art  of  language 
goes  on  exalting  itself;  but  the  moment  it  is 
shaped  and  chiselled  on  external  principles,  it 
falls  into  frivolity,  and  perishes.  And  this  truth 
would  have  been  long  ago  manifest,  had  it  not 
been  that  in  periods  of  advanced  academical 
science  there  is  always  a  tendency  to  deny  the 
sincerity  of  the  first  masters  of  language.  Once 
learn  to  write  gracefully  in  the  manner  of  an 
ancient  author,  and  we  are  apt  to  think  that  he 
also  wrote  in  the  manner  of  some  one  else.  But 
no  noble  nor  right  style  was  ever  yet  founded 
but  out  of  a  sincere  heart. 

No  man  is  worth  reading  to  form  your  style, 
who  does  not  mean  what  he  says ;  nor  was  any 
great  style  ever  invented  but  by  some  man  who 
meant  what  he  said.  Find  out  the  beginner  of 
a  great  manner  of  writing,  and  you  have  also 
found  the  declarer  of  some  true  facts  or  sincere 
passions :  and  your  whole  method  of  reading 
will  thus  be  quickened,  for,  being  sure  that  your 
author  really  meant  what  he  said,  you  will  be 
much  more  careful  to  ascertain  what  it  is  that 
he  means. 

69.   And  of  yet  greater  importance  is  it  deeply 


III.     THE    RELATION    OF   ART    TO    MORALS.       85 

to  know  that  every  beauty  possessed  by  the 
language  of  a  nation  is  significant  of  the  inner- 
most laws  of  its  being.  Keep  the  temper  of  the 
people  stern  and  manly ;  make  their  associa- 
tions grave,  courteous,  and  for  worthy  objects ; 
occupy  them  in  just  deeds;  and  their  tongue 
must  needs  be  a  grand  one.  Nor  is  it  possible, 
therefore — observe  the  necessary  reflected  ac- 
tion— that  any  tongue  should  be  a  noble  one, 
of  which  the  words  are  not  so  many  trumpet- 
calls  to  action.  All  great  languages  invariably 
utter  great  things,  and  command  them ;  they 
cannot  be  mimicked  but  by  obedience ;  the 
breath  of  them  is  inspiration  because  it  is  not 
only  vocal,  but  vital;  and  you  can  only  learn  to 
speak  as  these  men  spoke,  by  becoming  what 
these  men  were. 

70.  Now  for  direct  confirmation  of  this,  I 
want  you  to  think  over  the  relation  of  expression 
to  character  in  two  great  masters  of  the  absolute 
art  of  language,  Virgil  and  Pope.  You  are  per- 
haps surprised  at  the  last  name ;  and  indeed  you 
have  in  English  much  higher  grasp  and  melody 
of  language  from  more  passionate  minds,  but 
you  have  nothing  else,  in  its  range,  so  perfect. 
I  name,  therefore,  these  two  men,  because  they 


86  LECTURES   ON    ART. 

are  the  two  most  accomplished  Artists,  merely 
as  such,  whom  I  know  in  literature ;  and  because 
I  think  you  will  be  afterwards  interested  in  in- 
vestigating how  the  infinite  grace  in  the  words 
of  the  one,  and  the  severity  in  those  of  the  other, 
and  the  precision  in  those  of  both,  arise  wholly 
out  of  the  moral  elements  of  their  minds  : — out 
of  the  deep  tenderness  in  Virgil  which  enabled 
him  to  write  the  stories  of  Nisus  and  Lausus  ; 
and  the  serene  and  just  benevolence  which 
placed  Pope,  in  his  theology,  two  centuries  in 
advance  of  his  time,  and  enabled  him  to  sum 
the  law  of  noble  life  in  two  lines  which,  so  far 
as  I  know,  are  the  most  complete,  the  most 
concise,  and  the  most  lofty  expression  of  moral 
temper  existing  in  English  words  : — 

'  Never  elated,  while  one  man's  oppressed  ; 
Never  dejected,  while  another's  bless 'd.' 

I  wish  you  also  to  remember  these  lines  of 
Pope,  and  to  make  yourselves  entirely  masters 
of  his  system  of  ethics  ;  because,  putting  Shake- 
speare aside  as  rather  the  world's  than  ours,  1 
hold  Pope  to  be  the  most  perfect  representative 
we  have,  since  Chaucer,  of  the  true  English 
mind ;   and  I  think  the  Dunciad    is  the    most 


III. 


THE    RELATION    OF   ART    TO    MORALS.      8? 


absolutely  chiselled  and  monumental  work 
'  exacted '  in  our  country.  You  will  find,  as 
you  study  Pope,  that  he  has  expressed  for  you, 
in  the  strictest  language  and  within  the  briefest 
limits,  every  law  of  art,  of  criticism,  of  economy, 
of  policy,  and,  finally,  of  a  benevolence,  humble, 
rational,  and  resigned,  contented  with  its  allotted 
share  of  life,  and  trusting  the  problem  of  its 
salvation  to  Him  in  whose  hand  lies  that  of  the 
universe. 

7 1 .  And  now  I  pass  to  the  arts  with  which  I 
have  special  concern,  in  which,  though  the  facts 
are  exactly  the  same,  I  shall  have  more  difficulty 
in  proving  my  assertion,  because  very  few  of 
us  are  as  cognizant  of  the  merit  of  painting 
as  we  are  of  that  of  language ;  and  I  can  only 
show  you  whence  that  merit  springs,  after 
having  thoroughly  shown  you  in  what  it  con- 
sists. But,  in  the  meantime,  I  have  simply  to 
tell  you,  that  the  manual  arts  are  as  accurate 
exponents  of  ethical  state,  as  other  modes  of 
expression  ;  first,  with  absolute  precision,  of 
that  of  the  workman  ;  and  then  with  precision, 
disguised  by  many  distorting  influences,  of 
that  of  the  nation  to  which  it  belongs. 

And,  first,  they  are  a  perfect  exponent  of  the 


88  LECTURES   ON   ART. 

mind  of  the  workman  :  but,  being  so,  remember, 
if  the  mind  be  great  or  complex,  the  art  is  not 
an  easy  book  to  read  ;  for  we  must  ourselves 
possess  all  the  mental  characters  of  which  we 
are  to  read  the  signs.  No  man  can  read  the 
evidence  of  labour  who  is  not  himself  laborious, 
for  he  does  not  know  what  the  work  cost  :  nor 
can  he  read  the  evidence  of  true  passion  if  he 
is  not  passionate  ;  nor  of  gentleness  if  he  is 
not  gentle  :  and  the  most  subtle  signs  of  fault 
and  weakness  of  character  he  can  only  judge 
by  having  had  the  same  faults  to  fight  with. 
I  myself,  for  instance,  know  impatient  work,  and 
tired  work,  better  than  most  critics,  because  I 
am  myself  always  impatient,  and  often  tired  : — 
so  also,  the  patient  and  indefatigable  touch  of 
a  mighty  master  becomes  more  wonderful  to 
me  than  to  others.  Yet,  wonderful  in  no  mean 
measure  it  will  be  to  you  all,  when  I  make  it 
manifest, — and  as  soon  as  we  begin  our  real 
work,  and  you  have  learned  what  it  is  to  draw 
a  true  line,  I  shall  be  able  to  make  manifest 
to  you, — and  indisputably  so, — that  the  day's 
work  of  a  man  like  Mantegna  or  Paul  Veronese 
consists  of  an  unfaltering,  uninterrupted  suc- 
cession of  movements  of  the  hand  more  precise 


III.     THE    RELATION    OF    ART    TO    MORALS.      89 

than  those  of  the  finest  fencer  :  the  pencil  leav- 
ing one  point  and  arriving  at  another,  not  only 
with  unerring  precision  at  the  extremity  of  the 
line,  but  with  an  unerring  and  yet  varied  course 
— sometimes  over  spaces  a  foot  or  more  in 
extent — yet  a  course  so  determined  everywhere, 
that  either  of  these  men  could,  and  Veronese 
often  does,  draw  a  finished  profile,  or  any 
other  portion  of  the  contour  of  the  face,  with 
one  line,  not  afterwards  changed.  Try,  first, 
to  realise  to  yourselves  the  muscular  precision 
of  that  action,  and  the  intellectual  strain  of  it ; 
for  the  movement  of  a  fencer  is  perfect  in 
practised  monotony ;  but  the  movement  of  the 
hand  of  a  great  painter  is  at  every  instant 
governed  by  a  direct  and  new  intention.  Then 
imagine  that  muscular  firmness  and  subtlety, 
and  the  instantaneously  selective  and  ordinant 
energy  of  the  brain,  sustained  all  day  long,  not 
only  without  fatigue,  but  with  a  visible  joy  in 
the  exertion,  like  that  which  an  eagle  seems  to 
take  in  the  wave  of  his  wings ;  and  this  all  life 
long,  and  through  long  life,  not  only  without 
failure  of  power,  but  with  visible  increase  of  it, 
until  the  actually  organic  changes  of  old  age. 
And  then  consider,  so  far  as  you  know  anything 


90  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

of  physiology,  what  sort  of  an  ethical  state  of 
body  and  mind  that  means  !  ethic  through  ages 
past !  what  fineness  of  race  there  must  be  to  get 
it,  what  exquisite  balance  and  symmetry  of  the 
vital  powers  !  And  then,  finally,  determine  for 
yourselves  whether  a  manhood  like  that  is  con- 
sistent with  any  viciousness  of  soul,  with  any 
mean  anxiety,  any  gnawing  lust,  any  wretched- 
ness of  spite  or  remorse,  any  consciousness 
of  rebellion  against  law  of  God  or  man,  or  any 
actual,  though  unconscious  violation  of  even  the 
least  law  to  which  obedience  is  essential  for 
the  glory  of  life  and  the  pleasing  of  its  Giver. 
72.  It  is,  of  course,  true  that  many  of  the 
strong  masters  had  deep  faults  of  character,  but 
their  faults  always  show  in  their  work.  It  is 
true  that  some  could  not  govern  their  passions ; 
if  so,  they  died  young,  or  they  painted  ill  when 
old.  But  the  greater  part  of  our  misapprehen- 
sion in  the  whole  matter  is  from  our  not  having 
well  known  who  the  great  painters  were,  and 
taking  delight  in  the  petty  skill  that  was  bred 
in  the  fumes  of  the  taverns  of  the  North,  in- 
stead of  theirs  who  breathed  empyreal  air,  sons 
of  the  morning,  under  the  woods  of  Assisi  and 
the  crags  of  Cadore. 


III.     THE   RELATION    OF   ART   TO    MORALS.    9 1 

73.  It  is  true  however  also,  as  I  have  pointed 
out  long  ago,  that  the  strong  masters  fall  into 
two  great  divisions,  one  leading  simple  and 
natural  lives,  the  other  restrained  in  a  Puritan- 
ism of  the  worship  of  beauty  ;  and  these  two 
manners  of  life  you  may  recognise  in  a  moment 
by  their  work.  Generally  the  naturalists  are 
the  strongest ;  but  there  are  two  of  the  Puritans, 
whose  work  if  I  can  succeed  in  making  clearly 
understandable  to  you  during  my  three  years 
here,  it  is  all  I  need  care  to  do.  But  of  these 
two  Puritans  one  I  cannot  name  to  you,  and 
the  other  I  at  present  will  not.  One  I  cannot, 
for  no  one  knows  his  name,  except  the  baptismal 
one,  Bernard,  or  'dear  little  Bernard' — Ber- 
nardino, called  from  his  birthplace,  (Luino,  on 
the  Lago  Maggiore,)  Bernard  of  Luino.  The 
other  is  a  Venetian,  of  whom  many  of  you  pro- 
bably have  never  heard,  and  of  whom,  through 
me,  you  shall  not  hear,  until  I  have  tried  to  get 
some  picture  by  him  over  to  England. 

74.  Observe  then,  this  Puritanism  in  the 
worship  of  beauty,  though  sometimes  weak,  is 
always  honourable  and  amiable,  and  the  exact 
reverse  of  the  false  Puritanism,  which  consists 
in  the  dread  or  disdain  of  beauty.     And  in  order 


92  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

to  treat  my  subject  rightly,  I  ought  to  proceed 
from  the  skill  of  art  to  the  choice  of  its  subject, 
and  show  you  how  the  moral  temper  of  the 
workman  is  shown  by  his  seeking  lovely  forms 
and  thoughts  to  express,  as  well  as  by  the  force 
of  his  hand  in  expression.  But  I  need  not  now 
urge  this  part  of  the  proof  on  you,  because  you 
are  already,  I  believe,  sufficiently  conscious  of 
the  truth  in  this  matter,  and  also  I  have  already 
said  enough  of  it  in  my  writings  ;  whereas  I 
have  not  at  all  said  enough  of  the  infallibleness 
of  fine  technical  work  as  a  proof  of  every  other 
good  power.  And  indeed  it  was  long  before  I 
myself  understood  the  true  meaning  of  the  pride 
of  the  greatest  men  in  their  mere  execution, 
shown  for  a  permanent  lesson  to  us,  in  the 
stories  which,  whether  true  or  not,  indicate  with 
absolute  accuracy  the  general  conviction  of  great 
artists  ; — the  stories  of  the  contest  of  Apelles 
and  Protogenes  in  a  line  only,  (of  which  I  can 
promise  you,  you  shall  know  the  meaning  to 
some  purpose  in  a  little  while),— the  story  of 
the  circle  of  Giotto,  and  especially,  which  you 
may  perhaps  not  have  observed,  the  expression 
of  Diirer  in  his  inscription  on  the  drawings 
sent  him  by  Raphael.     These  figures,  he  says, 


III.     THE    RELATION    OF    ART    TO    MORALS.       93 

'Raphael  drew  and  sent  to  Albert  Diirer  in 
N  urn  berg,  to  show  him  ' — What  ?  Not  his  in- 
vention, nor  his  beauty  of  expression,  but  '  sein 
Hand  zu  weisen,'  '  To  show  him  his  hand.' 
And  you  will  find,  as  you  examine  farther,  that 
all  inferior  artists  are  continually  trying  to  escape 
from  the  necessity  of  sound  work,  and  either 
indulging  themselves  in  their  delights  in  subject, 
or  pluming  themselves  on  their  noble  motives 
for  attempting  what  they  cannot  perform  ;  (and 
observe,  by  the  way,  that  a  great  deal  of  what 
is  mistaken  for  conscientious  motive  is  nothing 
but  a  very  pestilent,  because  very  subtle,  con- 
dition of  vanity) ;  whereas  the  great  men  always 
understand  at  once  that  the  first  morality  of 
a  painter,  as  of  everybody  else,  is  to  know  his 
business-;  and  so  earnest  are  they  in  this,  that 
many,  whose  lives  you  would  think,  by  the  re- 
sults of  their  work,  had  been  passed  in  strong 
emotion,  have  in  reality  subdued  themselves, 
though  capable  of  the  very  strongest  passions, 
into  a  calm  as  absolute  as  that  of  a  deeply  shel- 
tered mountain  lake,  which  reflects  every  agita- 
tion of  the  clouds  in  the  sky,  and  every  change  of 
the  shadows  on  the  hills,  but  is  itself  motionless. 
75.   Finally,  you  must  remember  that  great 


94  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

obscurity  has  been  brought  upon  the  truth  in 
this  matter  by  the  want  of  integrity  and  simpli- 
city in  our  modern  life.  I  mean  integrity  in  the 
Latin  sense,  wholeness.  Everything  is  broken 
up,  and  mingled  in  confusion,  both  in  our  habits 
and  thoughts  ;  besides  being  in  great  part  imi- 
tative :  so  that  you  not  only  cannot  tell  what  a 
man  is,  but  sometimes  you  cannot  tell  whether 
he  t's,  at  all  ! — whether  you  have  indeed  to  do 
with  a  spirit,  or  only  with  an  echo.  And  thus 
the  same  inconsistencies  appear  -now,  between 
the  work  of  artists  of  merit  and  their  personal 
characters,  as  those  which  you  find  continually 
disappointing  expectation  in  the  lives  of  men 
of  modern  literary  power  ;  the  same  conditions 
of  society  having  obscured  or  misdirected  the 
best  qualities  of  the  imagination,  both  in  our 
literature  and  art.  Thus  there  is  no  serious 
question  with  any  of  us  as  to  the  personal  cha- 
racter of  Dante  and  Giotto,  of  Shakespeare  and 
Holbein ;  but  we  pause  timidly  in  the  attempt 
to  analyse  the  moral  laws  of  the  art  skill  in 
recent  poets,  novelists,  and  painters. 

j6.  Let  me  assure  you  once  for  all,  that  as 
you  grow  older,  if  you  enable  yourselves  to  dis- 
tinguish, by  the  truth  of  your  own  lives,  what 


III.     THE    RELATION    OF    ART    TO    MORALS.       95 

is  true  in  those  of  other  men,  you  will  gradually 
perceive  that  all  good  has  its  origin  in  good, 
never  in  evil ;  that  the  fact  of  either  literature 
or  painting  being  truly  fine  of  their  kind,  what- 
ever their  mistaken  aim,  or  partial  error,  is 
proof  of  their  noble  origin  :  and  that,  if  there 
is  indeed  sterling  value  in  the  thing  done,  it  has 
come  of  a  sterling  worth  in  the  soul  that  did  it, 
however  alloyed  or  defiled  by  conditions  of  sin 
which  are  sometimes  more  appalling  or  more 
strange  than  those  which  all  may  detect  in  their 
own  hearts,  because  they  are  part  of  a  person- 
ality altogether  larger  than  ours,  and  as  far  be- 
yond our  judgment  in  its  darkness  as  beyond 
our  following  in  its  light.  And  it  is  sufficient 
warning  against  what  some  might  dread  as  the 
probable  effect  of  such  a  conviction  on  your  own 
minds,  namely,  that  you  might  permit  yourselves 
in  the  weaknesses  which  you  imagined  to  be 
allied  to  genius,  when  they  took  the  form  of 
personal  temptations ; — it  is  surely,  I  say,  suffi- 
cient warning  against  so  mean  a  folly,  to  dis- 
cern, as  you  may  with  little  pains,  that,  of  all 
human  existences,  the  lives  of  men  of  that 
distorted  and  tainted  nobility  of  intellect  are 
probably  the  most  miserable. 


g6  lectures  on  art. 

77.  I  pass  to  the  second,  and  for  us  the  more 
practically  important  question,  What  is  the 
effect  of  noble  art  upon  other  men  ;  what  has  it 
done  for  national  morality  in  time  past  :  and 
what  effect  is  the  extended  knowledge  or  pos- 
session of  it  likely  to  have  upon  us  now  ?  And 
here  we  are  at  once  met  by  the  facts,  which 
are  as  gloomy  as  indisputable,  that,  while  many 
peasant  populations,  among  whom  scarcely  the 
rudest  practice  of  art  has  ever  been  attempted, 
have  lived  in  comparative  innocence,  honour  and 
happiness,  the  worst  foulness  and  cruelty  of 
savage  tribes  have  been  frequently  associated 
with  fine  ingenuities  of  decorative  design  ;  also, 
that  no  people  has  ever  attained  the  higher 
stages  of  art  skill,  except  at  a  period  of  its  civili- 
sation which  was  sullied  by  frequent,  violent 
and  even  monstrous  crime  ;  and,  lastly,  that  the 
attaining  of  perfection  in  art  power  has  been 
hitherto,  in  every  nation,  the  accurate  signal  of 
the  beginning  of  its  ruin. 

78.  Respecting  which  phenomena,  observe 
first,  that  although  good  never  springs  out  of 
evil,  it  is  developed  to  its  highest  by  contention 
with  evil.  There  are  some  groups  of  peasantry, 
in  far-away  nooks  of  Christian  countries,  who 


III.     THE    RELATION    OF   ART    TO    MORALS.       t'7 

are  nearly  as  innocent  as  lambs ;  but  the  mora- 
lity which  gives  power  to  art  is  the  morality  of 
men,  not  of  cattle. 

Secondly,  the  virtues  of  the  inhabitants  of 
many  country  districts  are  apparent,  not  real ; 
their  lives  are  indeed  artless,  but  not  inno- 
cent ;  and  it  is  only  the  monotony  of  circum- 
stances, and  the  absence  of  temptation,  which 
prevent  the  exhibition  of  evil  passions  not 
less  real  because  often  dormant,  nor  less  foul 
because  shown  only  in  petty  faults,  or  inactive 
malignities. 

79.  But  you  will  observe  also  that  absolute 
artlessness,  to  men  in  any  kind  of  moral  health, 
is  impossible ;  they  have  always,  at  least,  the 
art  by  which  they  live — agriculture  or  seaman- 
ship ;  and  in  these  industries,  skilfully  practised, 
you  will  find  the  law  of  their  moral  training  ; 
while,  whatever  the  adversity  of  circumstances, 
every  rightly-minded  peasantry,  such  as  that 
of  Sweden,  Denmark,  Bavaria,  or  Switzerland, 
has  associated  with  its  needful  industry  a  quite 
studied  school  of  pleasurable  art  in  dress ;  and 
generally  also  in  song,  and  simple  domestic 
architecture. 

80.  Again,  I  need  not  repeat  to  you  here  what 

7 


98  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

I  endeavoured  to  explain  in  the  first  lecture  in 
the  book  I  called  "  The  Two  Paths,"  respect- 
ing the  arts  of  savage  races  :  but  I  may  now 
note  briefly  that  such  arts  are  the  result  of  an 
intellectual  activity  which  has  found  no  room  to 
expand,  and  which  the  tyranny  of  nature  or  of 
man  has  condemned  to  disease  through  arrested 
growth.  And  where  neither  Christianity,  nor 
any  other  religion  conveying  some  moral  help, 
has  reached,  the  animal  energy  of  such  races 
necessarily  flames  into  ghastly  conditions  of 
evil,  and  the  grotesque  or  frightful  forms  as- 
sumed by  their  art  are  precisely  indicative  of 
their  distorted  moral  nature. 

8 1.  But  the  truly  great  nations  nearly  always 
begin  from  a  race  possessing  this  imaginative 
power ;  and  for  some  time  their  progress  is 
very  slow,  and  their  state  not  one  of  innocence, 
but  of  feverish  and  faultful  animal  energy.  This 
is  gradually  subdued  and  exalted  into  bright 
human  life  ;  the  art  instinct  purifying  itself  with 
the  rest  of  the  nature,  until  social  perfectness  is 
nearly  reached  ;  and  then  comes  the  period  when 
conscience  and  intellect  are  so  highly  developed, 
that  new  forms  of  error  begin  in  the  inability  to 
fulfil  the  demands  of  the  one,  or  to  answer  the 


III.    THE    RELATION    OF   ART   TO    MORALS.       99 

doubts  of  the  other.     Then  the  wholeness  of 
the  people  is  lost ;  all  kinds  of  hypocrisies  and 
oppositions  of  science  develop  themselves  ;  their 
faith  is  questioned  on  one  side,  and  compromised 
with  on  the  other ;  wealth  commonly  increases 
at  the  same  period  to  a  destructive  extent ;  lux- 
ury follows  ;  and  the  ruin  of  the  nation  is  then 
certain  :  while  the  arts,  all  this  time,  are  simply, 
as  I  said  at  first,  the  exponents  of  each  phase  of 
its  moral  state,  and  no  more  control  it  in  its 
political  career  than   the  gleam  of  the   firefly 
guides  its  oscillation.      It  is  true  that  their  most 
splendid   results  are    usually   obtained    in   the 
swiftness  of  the  power  which  is  hurrying  to  the 
precipice  ;  but  to  lay  the  charge  of  the  catas- 
trophe to  the  art  by  which  it  is  illumined,  is  to 
find  a  cause  for  the  cataract  in  the  hues  of  its  iris. 
It  is  true  that  the  colossal  vices  belonging  to 
periods  of  great  national  wealth  (for  wealth,  you 
will  find,  is  the  real  root  of  all  evil)  can  turn 
every  good  gift  and  skill  of  nature  or  of  man  to 
evil  purpose.     If,  in  such   times,  fair  pictures 
have  been  misused,  how  much  more  fair  reali- 
ties ?     And  if  Miranda  is  immoral  to  Caliban, 
is  that  Miranda's  fault  ? 

82.  And  I  could  easily  go  on  to  trace  for  you 


100  LECTURES   ON    ART. 

what  at  the  moment  I  speak,  is  signified,  in  our 
own  national  character,  by  the  forms  of  art,  and 
unhappily  also  by  the  forms  of  what  is  not  art, 
but  arexyia,  that  exist  among  us.  But  the  more 
important  question  is,  What  will  be  signified  by 
them  ;  what  is  there  in  us  now  of  worth  and 
strength,  which  under  our  new  and  partly  acci- 
dental impulse  towards  formative  labour,  may 
be  by  that  expressed,  and  by  that  fortified  ? 

Would  it  not  be  well  to  know  this  ?  Nay, 
irrespective  of  all  future  work,  is  it  not  the  first 
thing  we  should  want  to  know,  what  stuff  we 
are  made  of — how  far  we  are  ar/aOol  or  /ca/coi 
—good,  or  good  for  nothing  ?  We  may  all 
know  that,  each  of  ourselves,  easily  enough,  if 
we  like  to  put  one  grave  question  well  home. 

83.  Supposing  it  were  told  any  of  you  by  a 
physician  whose  word  you  could  not  but  trust, 
that  you  had  not  more  than  seven  days  to  live. 
And  suppose  also  that,  by  the  manner  of  your 
education  it  had  happened  to  you,  as  it  has  hap- 
pened to  many,  never  to  have  heard  of  any  future 
state,  or  not  to  have  credited  what  you  heard  ; 
and  therefore  that  you  had  to  face  this  fact  of 
the  approach  of  death  in  its  simplicity  :  fearing 
no  punishment  for  any  sin  that  you  might  have 


III.     THE    RELATION    OF    ART    TO    MORALS.     IOI 

before  committed,  or  in  the  coming  days  might 
determine  to  commit ;  and  having  similarly  no 
hope  of  reward  for  past,  or  yet  possible,  virtue  ; 
nor  even  of  any  consciousness  whatever  to  be 
left  to  you,  after  the  seventh  day  had  ended, 
either  of  the  results  of  your  acts  to  those  whom 
you  loved,  or  of  the  feelings  of  any  survivors 
towards  you.  Then  the  manner  in  which  you 
would  spend  the  seven  days  is  an  exact  mea- 
sure of  the  morality  of  your  nature. 

84.  I  know  that  some  of  you,  and  I  believe 
the  greater  number  of  you,  would,  in  such  a 
case,  spend  the  granted  days  entirely  as  you 
ought.  Neither  in  numbering  the  errors,  or  de- 
ploring the  pleasures  of  the  past;  nor  in  grasp- 
ing at  vile  good  in  the  present,  nor  vainly 
lamenting  the  darkness  of  the  future;  but  in 
an  instant  and  earnest  execution  of  whatever  it 
might  be  possible  for  you  to  accomplish  in  the 
time,  in  setting  your  affairs  in  order,  and  in  pro- 
viding for  the  future  comfort,  and — so  far  as 
you  might  by  any  message  or  record  of  yourself, 
-for  the  consolation,  of  those  whom  you  loved, 
and  by  whom  you  desired  to  be  remembered, 
not  for  your  good,  but  for  theirs.  How  far  you 
might  fail  through  human  weakness,  in  shame 


102  LECTURES    ON   ART. 

for  the  past,  despair  at  the  little  that  could  in 
the  remnant  of  life  be  accomplished,  or  the  in- 
tolerable pain  of  broken  affection,  would  depend 
wholly  on  the  degree  in  which  your  nature  had 
been  depressed  or  fortified  by  the  manner  of 
your  past  life.  But  I  think  there  are  few  of  you 
who  would  not  spend  those  last  days  better  than 
all  that  had  preceded  them. 

85.  If  you  look  accurately  through  the  records 
of  the  lives  that  have  been  most  useful  to 
humanity,  you  will  find  that  all  that  has  been 
done  best,  has  been  done  so  ; — that  to  the  clear- 
est intellects  and  highest  souls, — to  the  true 
children  of  the  Father,  with  whom  a  thousand 
years  are  as  one  day,  their  poor  seventy  years 
are  but  as  seven  days.  The  removal  of  the  sha- 
dow of  death  from  them  to  an  uncertain,  but 
always  narrow,  distance,  never  takes  away  from 
them  their  intuition  of  its  approach;  the  extend- 
ing to  them  of  a  few  hours  more  or  less  of  light 
abates  not  their  acknowledgment  of  the  infini- 
tude that  must  remain  to  be  known  beyond  their 
knowledge, — done  beyond  their  deeds  :  the  un- 
profitableness of  their  momentary  service  is 
wrought  in  a  magnificent  despair,  and  their  very 
honour  is  bequeathed  by  them  for  the  joy  of 


III.     THE    RELATION    OF    ART    TO    MORALS.     IO3 

others,  as  they  lie  down  to  their  rest,  regarding 
for  themselves  the  voice  of  men  no  more. 

86.  The  best  things,  I  repeat  to  you,  have 
been  done  thus,  and  therefore,  sorrowfully.  But 
the  greatest  part  of  the  good  work  of  the  world 
is  done  either  in  pure  and  unvexed  instinct  of 
duty,  'I  have  stubbed  Thornaby  waste,'  or  else, 
and  better,  it  is  cheerful  and  helpful  doing  of 
what  the  hand  finds  to  do,  in  surety  that  at 
evening  time,  whatsoever  is  right  the  Master 
will  give.  And  that  it  be  worthily  done,  de- 
pends wholly  on  that  ultimate  quantity  of  worth 
which  you  can  measure,  each  in  himself,  by  the 
test  I  have  just  given  you.  For  that  test,  ob- 
serve, will  mark  to  you  the  precise  force,  first  of 
your  absolute  courage,  and  then  of  the  energy 
in  you  for  the  right  ordering  of  things,  and 
the  kindly  dealing  with  persons.  You  have  cut 
away  from  these  two  instincts  every  selfish  or 
common  motive,  and  left  nothing  but  the  ener- 
gies of  Order  and  of  Love. 

87.  Now,  where  those  two  roots  are  set,  all 
the  other  powers  and  desires  find  right  nourish- 
ment, and  become  to  their  own  utmost,  helpful 
to  others  and  pleasurable  to  ourselves.  And  so 
far  as  those  two  springs  of  action  are  not  in  us, 


104  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

all  other  powers  become  corrupt  or  dead ;  even 
the  love  of  truth,  apart  from  these,  hardens  into 
an  insolent  and  cold  avarice  of  knowledge,  which 
unused,  is  more  vain  than  unused  gold. 

88.  These,  then,  are  the  two  essential  instincts 
of  humanity:  the  love  of  Order  and  the  love 
of  Kindness.  By  the  love  of  order  the  moral 
energy  is  to  deal  with  the  earth,  and  to  dress  it, 
and  keep  it;  and  with  all  rebellious  and  dis- 
solute forces  in  lower  creatures,  or  in  ourselves. 
By  the  love  of  doing  kindness  it  is  to  deal 
rightly  with  all  surrounding  life.  And  then, 
grafted  on  these,  we  are  to  make  every  other 
passion  perfect ;  so  that  they  may  every  one 
have  full  strength  and  yet  be  absolutely  under 
control. 

89.  Every  one  must  be  strong,  every  one  per- 
fect, every  one  obedient  as  a  war  horse.  And 
it  is  among  the  most  beautiful  pieces  of  mystic- 
ism to  which  eternal  truth  is  attached,  that  the 
chariot  race,  which  Plato  uses  as  an  image  of 
moral  government,  and  which  is  indeed  the  most 
perfect  type  of  it  in  any  visible  skill  of  men, 
should  have  been  made  by  the  Greeks  the  con- 
tinual subject  of  their  best  poetry  and  best  art. 
Nevertheless  Plato's  use  of  it  is  not  altogether 


III.     THE    RELATION    OF   ART   TO    MORALS.     105 

true.  There  is  no  black  horse  in  the  chariot  of 
the  soul.  One  of  the  driver's  worst  faults  is  in 
starving  his  horses ;  another,  in  not  breaking 
them  early  enough ;  but  they  are  all  good. 
Take,  for  example,  one  usually  thought  of  as 
wholly  evil — that  of  Anger,  leading  to  venge- 
ance. I  believe  it  to  be  quite  one  of  the  crown- 
ing wickednesses  of  this  age  that  we  have  starved 
and  chilled  our  faculty  of  indignation,  and  nei- 
ther desire  nor  dare  to  punish  crimes  justly. 
We  have  taken  up  the  benevolent  idea,  forsooth, 
that  justice  is  to  be  preventive  instead  of  vin- 
dictive; and  we  imagine  that  we  are  to  punish, 
not  in  anger,  but  in  expediency ;  not  that  we 
may  give  deserved  pain  to  the  person  in  fault, 
but  that  we  may  frighten  other  people  from 
committing  the  same  fault.  The  beautiful  theory 
of  this  non- vindictive  justice  is,  that  having 
convicted  a  man  of  a  crime  worthy  of  death,  we 
entirely  pardon  the  criminal,  restore  him  to  his 
place  in  our  affection  and  esteem,  and  then 
hang  him,  not  as  a  malefactor,  but  as  a  scare- 
crow. That  is  the  theory.  And  the  practice  is, 
that  we  send  a  child  to  prison  for  a  month  for 
stealing  a  handful  of  walnuts,  for  fear  that  other 
children    should   come    to  steal   more   of  our 


106  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

walnuts.  And  we  do  not  punish  a  swindler  for 
ruining  a  thousand  families,  because  we  think 
swindling  is  a  wholesome  excitement  to  trade. 

90.  But  all  true  justice  is  vindictive  to  vice, 
as  it  is  rewarding  to  virtue.  Only — and  herein 
it  is  distinguished  from  personal  revenge — it  is 
vindictive  of  the  wrong  done; — not  of  the  wrong 
done  to  us.  It  is  the  national  expression  of  de- 
liberate anger,  as  of  deliberate  gratitude;  it  is 
not  exemplary,  or  even  corrective,  but  essen- 
tially retributive ;  it  is  the  absolute  art  of  mea- 
sured recompense,  giving  honour  where  honour 
is  due,  and  shame  where  shame  is  due,  and  joy 
where  joy  is  due,  and  pain  where  pain  is  due. 
It  is  neither  educational,  for  men  are  to  be  edu- 
cated by  wholesome  habit,  not  by  rewards  and 
punishments  ;  nor  is  it  preventive,  for  it  is  to  be 
executed  without  regard  to  any  consequences ; 
but  only  for  righteousness'  sake,  a  righteous 
nation  does  judgment  and  justice.  But  in  this, 
as  in  all  other  instances,  the  Tightness  of  the 
secondary  passion  depends  on  its  being  grafted 
on  those  two  primary  instincts,  the  love  of  order 
and  of  kindness,  so  that  indignation  itself  is 
against  the  wounding  of  love.  Do  you  think 
the  /jifjvis  M^iX^os  came  of  a  hard  heart  in 


III.    THE   RELATION    OF   ART   TO    MORALS.     107 

Achilles,  or  the  '  Pallas  te  hoc  vulnere,  Pallas/ 
of  a  hard  heart  in  Anchises'  son  ? 

91.  And  now,  if  with  this  clue  through  the 
labyrinth  of  them,  you  remember  the  course  of 
the  arts  of  great  nations,  you  will  perceive  that 
whatever  has  prospered,  and  become  lovely, 
had  its  beginning — for  no  other  was  possible — 
in  the  love  of  order  in  material  things  associated 
with  true  SiKaiocrvvr) :  and  the  desire  of  beauty 
in  material  things,  which  is  associated  with  true 
affection,  c/iaritas,  and  with  the  innumerable 
conditions  of  gentleness  expressed  by  the  dif- 
ferent uses  of  the  words  %a/?t<>  and  gratia.  You 
will  find  that  this  love  of  beauty  is  an  essential 
part  of  all  healthy  human  nature,  and  though 
it  can  long  co-exist  with  states  of  life  in  many 
other  respects  unvirtuous,  it  is  itself  wholly 
good  ; — the  direct  adversary  of  envy,  avarice, 
mean  worldly  care,  and  especially  of  cruelty. 
It  entirely  perishes  when  these  are  wilfully  in- 
dulged ;  and  the  men  in  whom  it  has  been  most 
strong  have  always  been  compassionate,  and 
lovers  of  justice,  and  the  earliest  discerners 
and  declarers  of  things  conducive  to  the  happi- 
ness of  mankind. 

92.  Nearly  every  important  truth  respecting 


108  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

the  love  of  beauty  in  its  familiar  relations  to 
human  life  was  mythically  expressed  by  the 
Greeks  in  their  various  accounts  of  the  parentage 
and  offices  of  the  Graces.  But  one  fact,  the 
most  vital  of  all,  they  could  not  in  its  fulness 
perceive,  namely,  that  the  intensity  of  other 
perceptions  of  beauty  is  exactly  commensurate 
with  the  imaginative  purity  of  the  passion  of 
love,  and  with  the  singleness  of  its  devotion. 
They  were  not  fully  conscious  of,  and  could 
not  therefore  either  mythically  or  philosophi- 
cally express,  the  deep  relation  within  them- 
selves between  their  power  of  perceiving  beauty, 
and  the  honour  of  domestic  affection  which  found 
their  sternest  themes  of  tragedy  in  the  infringe- 
ment of  its  laws  ; — which  made  the  rape  of 
Helen  the  chief  subject  of  their  epic  poetry, 
and  which  fastened  their  clearest  symbolism 
of  resurrection  on  the  story  of  Alcestis.  Un- 
happily, the  subordinate  position  of  their  most 
revered  women,  and  the  partial  corruption  of 
feeling  towards  them  by  the  presence  of  certain 
other  singular  states  of  inferior  passion  which 
it  is  as  difficult  as  grievous  to  analyse,  arrested 
the  ethical  as  well  as  the  formative  progress  of 
the  Greek  mind ;  and  it  was  not  until  after  an 


III.    THE   RELATION    OF   ART   TO    MORALS.     109 

interval  of  nearly  two  thousand  years  of  various 
error  and  pain,  that,  partly  as  the  true  reward 
of  Christian  warfare  nobly  sustained  through 
centuries  of  trial,  and  partly  as  the  visionary 
culmination  of  the  faith  which  saw  in  a  maiden's 
purity  the  link  between  God  and  her  race,  the 
highest  and  holiest  strength  of  mortal  love  was 
reached  ;  and,  together  with  it,  in  the  song  of 
Dante,  and  the  painting  of  Bernard  of  Luino 
and  his  fellows,  the  perception,  and  embodi- 
ment for  ever  of  whatsoever  things  are  pure, 
whatsoever  things  are  lovely,  whatsoever  things 
are  of  good  report ; — that,  if  there  be  any  virtue, 
and  if  there  be  any  praise,  men  might  think  on 
those  things. 

93.  You  probably  observed  the  expression  I 
used  a  moment  ago,  the  imaginative  purity  of 
the  passion  of  love.  I  have  not  yet  spoken, 
nor  is  it  possible  for  me  to-day,  to  speak  ade- 
quately, of  the  moral  power  of  the  imagination  : 
but  you  may  for  yourselves  enough  discern  its 
nature  merely  by  comparing  the  dignity  of  the 
relations  between  the  sexes,  from  their  lowest 
level  in  moths  or  mollusca,  through  the  higher 
creatures  in  whom  they  become  a  domestic  in- 
fluence and  law,  up  to  the  love  of  pure  men 


I  IO  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

and  women  ;  and,  finally,  to  the  ideal  love  which 
animated  chivalry.  Throughout  this  vast  ascent 
it  is  the  gradual  increase  of  the  imaginative 
faculty  which  exalts  and  enlarges  the  authority 
of  the  passion,  until,  at  its  height,  it  is  the 
bulwark  of  patience,  the  tutor  of  honour,  and 
the  perfectness  of  praise. 

94.  You  will  find  farther,  that  as  of  love,  so 
of  all  the  other  passions,  the  right  government 
and  exaltation  begins  in  that  of  the  Imagination, 
which  is  lord  over  them.  For  to  subdue  the 
passions,  which  is  thought  so  often  to  be  the 
sum  of  duty  respecting  them,  is  possible  enough 
to  a  proud  dulness ;  but  to  excite  them  rightly, 
and  make  them  strong  for  good,  is  the  work  of 
the  unselfish  imagination.  It  is  constantly  said 
that  human  nature  is  heartless.  Do  not  believe 
it.  Human  nature  is  kind  and  generous  ;  but 
it  is  narrow  and  blind  ;  and  can  only  with  diffi- 
culty conceive  anything  but  what  it  immediately 
sees  and  feels.  People  would  instantly  care 
for  others  as  well  as  themselves  if  only  they 
could  imagine  others  as  well  as  themselves. 
Let  a  child  fall  into  the  river  before  the  rough- 
est man's  eyes ; — he  will  usually  do  what  he 
can  to  get  it  out,  even  at  some  risk  to  himself; 


III.    THE    RELATION    OF    ART    TO    MORALS.     I  I  I 

and  all  the  town  will  triumph  in  the  saving  of 
one  little  life.  Let  the  same  man  be  shown 
that  hundreds  of  children  are  dying  of  fever  for 
want  of  some  sanitary  measure  which  it  will 
cost  him  trouble  to  urge,  and  he  will  make  no 
effort ;  and  probably  all  the  town  would  resist 
him  if  he  did.  So,  also,  the  lives  of  many  de- 
serving women  are  passed  in  a  succession  of 
petty  anxieties  about  themselves,  and  gleaning 
of  minute  interests  and  mean  pleasures  in  their 
immediate  circle,  because  they  are  never  taught 
to  make  any  effort  to  look  beyond  it;  or  to  know 
anything  about  the  mighty  world  in  which  their 
lives  are  fading,  like  blades  of  bitter  grass  in 
fruitless  fields. 

95.  I  had  intended  to  enlarge  on  this — and 
yet  more  on  the  kingdom  which  every  man  holds 
in  his  conceptive  faculty,  to  be  peopled  with 
active  thoughts  and  lovely  presences,  or  left 
waste  for  the  springing  up  of  those  dark  desires 
and  dreams  of  which  it  is  written  that  'every 
imagination  of  the  thoughts  of  man's  heart  is 
evil  continually.'  True,  and  a  thousand  times 
true  it  is,  that,  here  at  least,  '  greater  is  he 
that  ruleth  his  spirit,  than  he  that  taketh  a  city.' 
But  this  you  can  partly  follow  out  for  yourselves 


112  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

without  help,  partly  we  must  leave  it  for  future 
enquiry.  I  press  to  the  conclusion  which  I  wish 
to  leave  with  you,  that  all  you  can  rightly  do, 
or  honourably  become,  depends  on  the  govern- 
ment of  these  two  instincts  of  order  and  kind- 
ness, by  this  great  Imaginative  faculty,  which 
gives  you  inheritance  of  the  past,  grasp  of  the 
present,  authority  over  the  future.  Map  out  the 
spaces  of  your  possible  lives  by  its  help  ;  mea- 
sure the  range  of  their  possible  agency  !  On 
the  wails  and  towers  of  this  your  fair  city,  there 
is  not  an  ornament  of  which  the  first  origin  may 
not  be  traced  back  to  the  thoughts  of  men  who 
died  two  thousand  years  ago.  Whom  will  you 
be  governing  by  your  thoughts,  two  thousand 
years  hence  ?  Think  of  it,  and  you  will  find 
that  so  far  from  art  being  immoral,  little  else  ex- 
cept art  is  moral ;  that  life  without  industry  is 
guilt,  and  industry  without  art  is  brutality  :  and 
for  the  words  '  good  '  and  '  wicked/  used  of  men, 
you  may  almost  substitute  the  words  '  Makers ' 
and  '  Destroyers.'  Far  the  greater  part  of  the 
seeming  prosperity  of  the  world  is,  so  far  as  our 
present  knowledge  extends,  vain  :  wholly  use- 
less for  any  kind  of  good,  but  having  assigned 
to  it  a  certain  inevitable  sequence  of  destruction 


III.     THE    RELATION    OF   ART    TO    MORALS.     113 

and  of  sorrow.  Its  stress  is  only  the  stress  of 
wandering  storm ;  its  beauty  the  hectic  of  plague : 
and  what  is  called  the  history  of  mankind  is  too 
often  the  record  of  the  whirlwind,  and  the  map 
of  the  spreading  of  the  leprosy.  But  underneath 
all  that,  or  in  narrow  spaces  of  dominion  in  the 
midst  of  it,  the  work  of  every  man,  '  qui  non 
accepit  in  vanitatem  animam  suam,'  endures  and 
prospers  ;  a  small  remnant  or  green  bud  of  it 
prevailing  at  last  over  evil.  And  though  faint 
with  sickness,  and  encumbered  in  ruin,  the  true 
workers  redeem  inch  by  inch  the  wilderness 
into  garden  ground  ;  by  the  help  of  their  joined 
hands  the  order  of  all  things  is  surely  sustained 
and  vitally  expanded,  and  although  with  strange 
vacillation,  in  the  eyes  of  the  watcher,  the  morn- 
ing cometh,  and  also  the  night,  there  is  no  hour 
of  human  existence  that  does  not  draw  on  to- 
wards the  perfect  day. 

96.  And  perfect  the  day  shall  be,  when  it  is  of 
all  men  understood  that  the  beauty  of  Holiness 
must  be  in  labour  as  well  as  in  rest.  Nay ! 
more,  if  it  may  be,  in  labour  ;  in  our  strength, 
rather  than  in  our  weakness ;  and  in  the  choice 
of  what  we  shall  work  for  through  the  six  days, 
and  may  know  to  be  good  at  their  evening  time, 

8 


114  LECTURES   ON   ART. 

than  in  the  choice  of  what  we  pray  for  on  the 
seventh,  of  reward  or  repose.  With  the  multi- 
tude that  keep  holiday,  we  may  perhaps  some- 
times vainly  have  gone  up  to  the  house  of  the 
Lord,  and  vainly  there  asked  for  what  we  fancied 
would  be  mercy  ;  but  for  the  few  who  labour  as 
their  Lord  would  have  them,  the  mercy  needs 
no  seeking,  and  their  wide  home  no  hallowing. 
Surely  goodness  and  mercy  shall  follow  them,  all 
the  days  of  their  life ;  and  they  shall  dwell  in 
the  house  of  the  Lord — for  ever. 


LECTURE   IV. 

THE    RELATION    OF   ART    TO    USE. 

97.  Our  subject  of  enquiry  to-day,  you  will  re- 
member, is  the  mode  in  which  fine  art  is  founded 
upon,  or  may  contribute  to,  the  practical  re- 
quirements of  human  life. 

Its  offices  in  this  respect  are  mainly  twofold  : 
it  gives  Form  to  knowledge,  and  Grace  to  utility ; 
that  is  to  say,  it  makes  permanently  visible  to 
us  things  which  otherwise  could  neither  be 
described  by  our  science,  nor  retained  by  our 
memory  ;  and  it  gives  delightfulness  and  worth 
to  the  implements  of  daily  use,  and  materials 
of  dress,  furniture  and  lodging.  In  the  first  of 
these  offices  it  gives  precision  and  charm  to 
truth  ;  in  the  second  it  gives  precision  and  charm 
to  service.  For,  the  moment  we  make  anything 
useful  thoroughly,  it  is  a  law  of  nature  that  we 
shall  be  pleased  with  ourselves,  and  with  the 


tlS  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

thing  we  have  made;  and  become  desirous  there- 
fore to  adorn  or  complete  it,  in  some  dainty  way, 
with  finer  art  expressive  of  our  pleasure. 

And  the  point  I  wish  chiefly  to  bring  before 
you  to-day  is  this  close  and  healthy  connection 
of  the  fine  arts  with  material  use  ;  but  I  must 
first  try  briefly  to  put  in  clear  light  the  function 
of  art  in  giving  Form  to  truth. 

98.  Much  that  I  have  hitherto  tried  to  teach 
has  been  disputed  on  the  ground  that  I  have 
attached  too  much  importance  to  art  as  repre- 
senting natural  facts,  and  too  little  to  it  as  a 
source  of  pleasure.  And  I  wish,  in  the  close  of 
these  four  prefatory  lectures,  strongly  to  assert 
to  you,  and,  so  far  as  I  can  in  the  time,  con- 
vince you,  that  the  entire  vitality  of  art  depends 
upon  its  being  either  full  of  truth,  or  full  of  use  ; 
and  that,  however  pleasant,  wonderful  or  im- 
pressive it  may  be  in  itself,  it  must  yet  be  of 
inferior  kind,  and  tend  to  deeper  inferiority,  un- 
less it  has  clearly  one  of  these  main  objects, — 
either  to  state  a  true  thing,  or  to  adorn  a  service- 
able one.  It  must  never  exist  alone — never  for 
itself ;  it  exists  rightly  only  when  it  is  the  means 
of  knowledge,  or  the  grace  of  agency  for  life. 

99.  Now.,  I  pray  }'ou  to  observe — for  though 


IV.    THE    RELATION    OF  ART   TO    USE.  II7 

I  have  said  this  often  before,  I  have  never  yet 
said  it  clearly  enough — every  good  piece  of  art, 
to  whichever  of  these  ends  it  may  be  directed, 
involves  first  essentially  the  evidence  of  human 
skill,  and  the  formation  of  an  actually  beautiful 
thing  by  it. 

Skill,  and  beauty,  always  then  ;  and,  beyond 
these,  the  formative  arts  have  always  one  or 
other  of  the  two  objects  which  I  have  just  de- 
fined to  you — truth,  or  serviceableness ;  and 
without  these  aims  neither  the  skill  nor  their 
beauty  will  avail ;  only  by  these  can  either 
legitimately  reign.  All  the  graphic  arts  rjegin 
in  keeping  the  outline  of  shadow  that  we  have 
loved,  and  they  end  in  giving  to  it  the  aspect 
of  life  ;  and  all  the  architectural  arts  begin  in 
the  shaping  of  the  cup  and  the  platter,  and 
they  end  in  a  glorified  roof. 

Therefore,  you  see,  in  the  graphic  arts  you 
have  Skill,  Beauty,  and  Likeness  ;  and  in  the 
architectural  arts,  Skill,  Beauty,  and  Use  ;  and 
you  must  have  the  three  in  each  group,  balanced 
and  co-ordinate  ;  and  all  the  chief  errors  of  art 
consist  in  losing  or  exaggerating  one  of  these 
elements. 

100.  For  instance,  almost  the  whole  system 


I  l8  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

and  hope  of  modern  life  are  founded  on  the 
notion  that  you  may  substitute  mechanism  for 
skill,  photograph  for  picture,  cast-iron  for  sculp- 
ture.    That  is  your    main    nineteenth-century 
faith,  or  infidelity.    You  think  you  can  get  every- 
thing by  grinding — music,  literature,  and  paint- 
ing.    You  will  find  it  grievously  not  so  ;  you  can 
get  nothing  but  dust  by  mere  grinding.   Even 
to  have  the  barley-meal  out  of  it,  you  must  have 
the  barley  first ;  and  that  comes  by  growth,  not 
grinding.    But  essentially,  we  have  lost  our  de- 
light in  Skill ;  in  that  majesty  of  it  which  I  was 
trying  to  make  clear  to  you  in  my  last  address, 
and  which  long  ago  I  tried  to  express,  under  the 
head  of  ideas  of  power.     The  entire  sense  of 
that,  we  have  lost,  because  we  ourselves  do  not 
take  pains  enough  to  do  right,  and  have  no  con- 
ception of  what  the  right  costs ;  so  that  all  the 
joy  and  reverence  we  ought  to  feel  in  looking  at 
a  strong  man's  work  have  ceased  in  us.     We 
keep  them  yet  a  little  in  looking  at  a  honeycomb 
or  a  bird's-nest ;  we  understand  that  these  differ, 
by  divinity  of  skill,  from  a  lump   of  wax  or  a 
cluster  of  sticks.     But  a  picture,  which  is  a  much 
more  wonderful  thing  than  a  honeycomb  or  a 
bird's-nest, — have  we  not  known  people,   and 


IV.    THE   RELATION    OF   ART   TO    USE.  I IO, 

sensible  people  too,  who  expected  to  be  taught 
to  produce  that,  in  six  lessons  ? 

101.  Well,  you  must  have  the  skill,  you  must 
have  the  beauty,  which  is  the  highest  moral 
element ;  and  then,  lastly,  you  must  have  the 
verity  or  utility,  which  is  not  the  moral,  but  the 
vital  element ;  and  this  desire  for  verity  and  use 
is  the  one  aim  of  the  three  that  always  leads  in 
great  schools,  and  in  the  minds  of  great  masters, 
without  any  exception.  They  will  permit  them- 
selves in  awkwardness,  they  will  permit  them- 
selves in  ugliness  ;  but  they  will  never  permit 
themselves  in  uselessness  or  in  unveracity. 

102.  And  farther,  as  their  skill  increases,  and 
as  their  grace,  so  much  more,  their  desire  for 
truth.  It  is  impossible  to  find  the  three  motives 
in  fairer  balance  and  harmony  than  in  our  own 
Reynolds.  He  rejoices  in  showing  you  his 
skill ;  and  those  of  you  who  succeed  in  learning 
what  painter's  work  really  is,  will  one  day  re- 
joice also,  even  to  laughter — that  highest  laugh- 
ter which  springs  of  pure  delight,  in  watching 
the  fortitude  and  the  fire  of  a  hand  which  strikes 
forth  its  will  upon  the  canvas  as  easily  as  the 
wind  strikes  it  on  the  sea.  He  rejoices  in  all 
abstract    beauty   and   rhythm   and  melody   of 


120  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

design ;  he  will  never  give  you  a  colour  that  is 
not  lovely,  nor  a  shade  that  is  unnecessary,  nor 
aline  that  is  ungraceful.  But  all  his  power  and 
all  his  invention  are  held  by  him  subordinate, — 
and  the  more  obediently  because  of  their  noble- 
ness,— to  his  true  leading  purpose  of  setting  be- 
fore you  such  likeness  of  the  living  presence 
of  an  English  gentleman  or  an  English  lady,  as 
shall  be  worthy  of  being  looked  upon  for  ever. 

103.  But  farther,  you  remember,  I  hope — for 
I  said  it  in  a  way  that  I  thought  would  shock 
you  a  little,  that  you  might  remember  it — my 
statement,  that  art  had  never  done  more  than 
this,  never  more  than  given  the  likeness  of  a 
noble  human  being.  Not  only  so,  but  it  very 
seldom  does  so  much  as  this  ;  and  the  best 
pictures  that  exist  of  the  great  schools  are  all 
portraits,  or  groups  of  portraits,  often  of  very 
simple  and  no  wise  noble  persons.  You  may 
have  much  more  brilliant  and  impressive  quali- 
ties in  imaginative  pictures;  you  may  have 
figures  scattered  like  clouds,  or  garlanded  like 
flowers  ;  you  may  have  light  and  shade,  as  of 
a  tempest,  and  colour,  as  of  the  rainbow ;  but 
all  that  is  child's  play  to  the  great  men,  though 
it  is  astonishment  to  us.     Their  real  strength  is 


IV.    THE    RELATION    OF    ART    TO    USE.         121 

tried  to  the  utmost,  and  as  far  as  I  know,  it  is 
never  elsewhere  brought  out  so  thoroughly,  as 
in  painting  one  man  or  woman,  and  the  soul 
that  was  in  them  ;  nor  that  always  the  highest 
soul,  but   often   only  a  thwarted  one  that  was 
capable  of  height ;  or  perhaps  not  even  that,  but 
faultful  and  poor,  yet  seen  through,  to  the  poor 
best  of  it,  by  the  masterful  sight.      So  that  in 
order  to  put  before  you  in  your  Standard  series, 
the  best  art  possible,  I  am  obliged,  even  from 
the  very  strongest  men,  to  take  portraits,  before 
I  take  the  idealism.     Na}^,  whatever  is  best  in 
the  great  compositions  themselves  has  depended 
on  portraiture  ;  and  the  study  necessary  to  en- 
able you  to  understand  invention  will  also  con- 
vince you  that  the  mind  of  man  never  invented 
a  greater  thing  than  the  form  of  man,  animated 
by  faithful  life.     Every  attempt  to  refine  or  exalt 
such  healthy  humanity  has  weakened  or  cari- 
catured it ;  or  else  consists  only  in  giving  it,  to 
please  our  fancy,  the  wings  of  birds,  or  the  eyes 
of  antelopes.    Whatever  is  truly  great  in  either 
Greek    or    Christian    art,    is    also    restrictedly 
human  ;  and  even  the  raptures  of  the  redeemed 
souls  who  enter,   '  celestemente  ballando,'  the 
gate  of  Angelico's  Paradise,  were  seen  first  in  the 


122  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

terrestrial,  yet  most  pure,  mirth  of  Florentine 
maidens. 

104.  I  am  aware  that  this  cannot  but  at 
present  appear  gravely  questionable  to  those  of 
my  audience  who  are  strictly  cognisant  of  the 
phases  of  Greek  art ;  for  they  know  that  the 
moment  of  its  decline  is  accurately  marked,  by 
its  turning  from  abstract  form  to  portraiture. 
But  the  reason  of  this  is  simple.  The  progres- 
sive course  of  Greek  art  was  in  subduing  mon- 
strous conceptions  to  natural  ones  ;  it  did  this 
by  general  laws;  it  reached  absolute  truth  of 
generic  human  form,  and  if  this  ethical  force 
had  remained,  would  have  advanced  into  healthy 
portraiture.  But  at  the  moment  of  change  the 
national  life  ended  in  Greece  ;  and  portraiture, 
there,  meant  insult  to  her  religion,  and  flattery 
to  her  tyrants.  And  her  skill  perished,  not  be- 
cause she  became  true  in  sight,  but  because  she 
became  vile  at  heart. 

105.  And  now  let  us  think  of  our  own  work, 
and  ask  how  that  may  become,  in  its  own  poor 
measure,  active  in  some  verity  of  representation. 
We  certainly  cannot  begin  by  drawing  kings  or 
queens  ;  but  we  must  try,  even  in  our  earliest 
work,  if  it  is  to  prosper,  to  draw  something  that 


IV.    THE    RELATION    OF    ART    TO    USE.  123 

will  convey  true  knowledge  both  to  ourselves 
and  others.  And  I  think  you  will  find  greatest 
advantage  in  the  endeavour  to  give  more  life 
and  educational  power  to  the  simpler  branches 
of  natural  science  :  for  the  great  scientific  men 
are  all  so  eager  in  advance  that  they  have  no 
time  to  popularise  their  discoveries,  and  if  we 
can  glean  after  them  a  little,  and  make  pictures 
of  the  things  which  science  describes,  we  shall 
find  the  service  a  worthy  one.  Not  only  so, 
but  we  may  even  be  helpful  to  science  herself; 
for  she  has  suffered  by  her  proud  severance  from 
the  arts  ;  and  having  made  too  little  effort  to 
realise  her  discoveries  to  vulgar  eyes,  has  her- 
self lost  true  measure  of  what  was  chiefly  pre- 
cious in  them. 

1 06.  Take  Botany,  for  instance.  Our  scien- 
tific botanists  are,  I  think,  chiefly  at  present 
occupied  in  distinguishing  species,  which  perfect 
methods  of  distinction  will  probably  in  the  future 
show  to  be  indistinct ; — in  inventing  descriptive 
names  of  which  a  more  advanced  science  and 
more  fastidious  scholarship  will  show  some  to 
be  unnecessary,  and  others  inadmissible  ; — and 
in  microscopic  investigations  of  structure,  which 
through   many   alternate   links    of    triumphant 


124  LECTURES   ON    ART. 

discovery  that  tissue  is  composed  of  vessels,  and 
that  vessels  are  composed  of  tissue,  have  not 
hitherto  completely  explained  to  us  either  the 
origin,  the  energy,  or  the  course  of  the  sap  ;  and 
which  however  subtle  or  successful,  bear  to  the 
real  natural  history  of  plants  only  the  relation 
that  anatomy  and  organic  chemistry  bear  to  the 
history  of  men.  In  the  meantime,  our  artists 
are  so  generally  convinced  of  the  truth  of  the 
Darwinian  theory  that  they  do  not  always  think 
it  necessary  to  show  any  difference  between  the 
foliage  of  an  elm  and  an  oak ;  and  the  gift-books 
of  Christmas  have  every  page  surrounded  with 
laboriously  engraved  garlands  of  rose,  shamrock, 
thistle,  and  forget-me-not,  without  its  being 
thought  proper  by  the  draughtsman,  or  desir- 
able by  the  public,  even  in  the  case  of  those 
uncommon  flowers,  to  observe  the  real  shape 
of  the  petals  of  any  one  of  them. 

107.  Now  what  we  especially  need  at  present 
for  educational  purposes  is  to  know,  not  the 
anatomy  of  plants,  but  their  biography — how 
and  where  they  live  and  die,  their  tempers,  be- 
nevolences, malignities,  distresses,  and  virtues. 
We  want  them  drawn  from  their  youth  to  their 
age,  from  bud  to  fruit.     We  ought  to  see  the 


IV.    THE    RELATION    OF    ART    TO    USE.  125 

various  formsr  of  their  diminished  but  hardy 
growth  in  cold  climates,  or  poor  soils ;  and  their 
rank  or  wild  luxuriance,  when  full-fed,  and 
warmly  nursed.  And  all  this  we  ought  to  have 
drawn  so  accurately,  that  we  might  at  once  com- 
pare any  given  part  of  a  plant  with  the  same 
part  of  any  other,  drawn  on  the  like  conditions. 
Now,  is  not  this  a  work  which  we  may  set  about 
here  in  Oxford,  with  good  hope  and  much  plea- 
sure ?  I  think  it  is  so  important,  that  the  first 
exercise  in  drawing  I  shall  put  before  you  will 
be  an  outline  of  a  laurel  leaf.  You  will  find  in 
the  opening  sentence  of  Leonardo's  treatise,  our 
present  text-book,  that  you  must  not  at  first 
draw  from  nature,  but  from  a  good  master's 
work,  '  per  assuefarsi  a  buone  membra,'  to  ac- 
custom yourselves,  that  is,  to  entirely  good 
representative  organic  forms.  So  your  first 
exercise  shall  be  the  top  of  the  laurel  sceptre 
of  Apollo,  drawn  by  an  Italian  engraver  of 
Leonardo's  own  time  ;  then  we  will  draw  a 
laurel  leaf  itself ;  and  little  by  little,  I  think  we 
may  both  learn  ourselves,  and  teach  to  many 
besides,  somewhat  more  than  we  know  yet,  of 
the  wild  olives  of  Greece,  and  the  wild  roses 
of  England. 


126  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

108.  Next,  in  Geology,  which  I  will  take  leave 
to  consider  as  an  entirely  separate  science  from 
the  zoology  of  the  past,  which  has  lately  usurped 
its  name  and  interest.  In  geology  itself  we 
find  the  strength  of  many  able  men  occupied  in 
debating  questions  of  which  there  are  yet  no 
data  even  for  the  clear  statement ;  and  in  seiz- 
ing advanced  theoretical  positions  on  the  mere 
contingency  of  their  being  afterwards  tenable  ; 
while,  in  the  meantime,  no  simple  person,  taking 
a  holiday  in  Cumberland,  can  get  an  intelligible 
section  of  Skiddaw,  or  a  clear  account  of  the 
origin  of  the  Skiddaw  slates  ;  and  while,  though 
half  the  educated  society  of  London  travel  every 
summer  over  the  great  plain  of  Switzerland, 
none  know,  or  care  to  know,  why  that  is  a  plain, 
and  the  Alps  to  the  south  of  it  are  Alps ;  and 
whether  or  not  the  gravel  of  the  one  has  any- 
thing to  do  with  the  rocks  of  the  other.  And 
though  every  palace  in  Europe  owes  part  of 
its  decoration  to  variegated  marbles,  and  nearly 
every  woman  in  Europe  part  of  her  decoration  to 
pieces  of  jasper  or  chalcedony,  I  do  not  think  any 
geologist  could  at  this  moment  with  authority 
tell  us  either  how  a  piece  of  marble  is  stained, 
or  what  causes  the  streaks  in  a  Scotch  pebble. 


IV.    THE    RELATION    OF    ART   TO    USE.  127 

109.  Now,  as  soon  as  you  have  obtained  the 
power  of  drawing,  I  do  not  say  a  mountain,  but 
even  a  stone,  accurately,  every  question  of  this 
kind  will  become  to  you  at  once  attractive  and 
definite  ;  you  will  find  that  in  the  grain,  the 
lustre,  and  the  cleavage-lines  of  the  smallest 
fragment  of  rock,  there  are  recorded  forces  of 
every  order  and  magnitude,  from  those  which 
raise  a  continent  by  one  volcanic  effort,  to  those 
which  at  every  instant  are  polishing  the  appa- 
rently complete  crystal  in  its  nest,  and  conduct- 
ing the  apparently  motionless  metal  in  its  vein  ; 
and  that  only  by  the  art  of  your  own  hand,  and 
fidelity  of  sight  which  it  developes,  you  can 
obtain  true  perception  of  these  invincible  and 
inimitable  arts  of  the  earth  herself;  while  the 
comparatively  slight  effort  necessary  to  obtain 
so  much  skill  as  may  serviceably  draw  moun- 
tains in  distant  effect  will  be  instantly  rewarded 
by  what  is  almost  equivalent  to  a  new  sense 
of  the  conditions  of  their  structure. 

I IO.  And,  because  it  is  well  at  once  to  know 
some  direction  in  which  our  work  may  be  defi- 
nite, let  me  suggest  to  those  of  you  who  may 
intend  passing  their  vacation  in  Switzerland, 
and  who  care  about  mountains,  that  if  they  will 


128  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

first  qualify  themselves  to  take  angles  of  position 
and  elevation  with  correctness,  and  to  draw  out- 
lines with  approximate  fidelity,  there  are  a  series 
of  problems  of  the  highest  interest  to  be  worked 
out  on  the  southern  edge  of  the  Swiss  plain,  in 
the  study  of  the  relations  of  its  molasse  beds  to 
the  rocks  which  are  characteristically  developed 
in  the  chain  of  the  Stockhorn,  Beatenberg, 
Pilate,  Mythen  above  Schwytz,  and  High  Sentis 
of  Appenzell ;  the  pursuit  of  which  may  lead 
them  into  many  pleasant,  as  well  as  creditably 
dangerous,  walks,  and  curious  discoveries ;  and 
will  be  good  for  the  discipline  of  their  fingers 
in  the  pencilling  of  crag  form. 

in.  I  wish  I  could  ask  you  to  draw,  instead 
of  the  Alps,  the  crests  of  Parnassus  and  Olym- 
pus, and  the  ravines  of  Delphi  and  of  Tempe. 
I  have  not  loved  the  arts  of  Greece  as  others 
have  ;  yet  I  love  them,  and  her,  so  much,  that  it 
is  to  me  simply  a  standing  marvel  how  scholars 
can  endure  for  all  these  centuries,  during  which 
their  chief  education  has  been  in  the  language 
and  policy  of  Greece,  to  have  only  the  names  of 
her  hills  and  rivers  upon  their  lips,  and  never 
one  line  of  conception  of  them  in  their  mind's 
sight.      Which  of  us  knows  what  the  valley 


IV.     THE    RELATION    OF   ART   TO    USE.        129 

of  Sparta  is  like,  or  the  great  mountain  vase 
of  Arcadia  ?  which  of  us,  except  in  mere  airy 
syllabling  of  names,  knows  aught  of  '  sandy 
Ladon's  lilied  banks,  or  old  Lycaeus,  or  Cyllene 
hoar  '  ?  '  You  cannot  travel  in  Greece  ?  ' — I 
know  it ;  nor  in  Magna  Graecia.  But,  gentle- 
men of  England,  you  had  better  find  out  why 
you  cannot,  and  put  an  end  to  that  horror  of 
European  shame,  before  you  hope  to  learn 
Greek  art. 

1 1 2.  I  scarcely  know  whether  to  place  among 
the  things  useful  to  art,  or  to  science,  the  syste- 
matic record,  by  drawing,  of  phenomena  of  the 
sky.  But  I  am  quite  sure  that  your  work  can- 
not in  any  direction  be  more  useful  to  yourselves, 
than  in  enabling  you  to  perceive  the  quite  un- 
paralleled subtilties  of  colour  and  inorganic 
form,  which  occur  on  any  ordinarily  fine  morn- 
ing or  evening  horizon  ;  and  I  will  even  confess 
to  you  another  of  my  perhaps  too  sanguine 
expectations,  that  in  some  far  distant  time  it 
may  come  to  pass,  that  young  Englishmen  and 
Englishwomen  may  think  the  breath  of  the 
morning  sky  pleasanter  than  that  of  midnight, 
and  its  light  prettier  than  that  of  candles. 

113.  Lastly,  in  Zoology.     What  the  Greeks 

9 


130  LECTURES   ON    ART. 

did  for  the  horse,  and  what,  as  far  as  regards 
domestic  and  expressional  character,  Landseer 
has  done  for  the  dog  and  the  deer,  remains  to 
be  done  by  art  for  nearly  all  other  animals  of 
high  organization.  There  are  few  birds  or  beasts 
that  have  not  a  range  of  character  which,  if  not 
equal  to  that  of  the  horse  or  dog,  is  yet  as 
interesting  within  narrower  limits,  and  often  in 
grotesqueness,  intensity,  or  wild  and  timid  pa- 
thos, more  singular  and  mysterious.  Whatever 
love  of  humour  you  have, — whatever  sympathy 
with  imperfect,  but  most  subtle,  feeling, — what- 
ever perception  of  sublimity  in  conditions  of 
fatal  power,  may  here  find  fullest  occupation  : 
all  these  being  joined,  in  the  strong  animal  races, 
to  a  variable  and  fantastic  beauty  far  beyond 
anything  that  merely  formative  art  has  yet 
conceived.  I  have  placed  in  your  Educational 
series  a  wing  by  Albert  Durer,  which  goes  as 
far  as  art  yet  has  reached  in  delineation  of 
plumage ;  while  for  the  simple  action  of  the 
pinion  it  is  impossible  to  go  beyond  what  has 
been  done  already  by  Titian  and  Tintoret ;  but 
you  cannot  so  much  as  once  look  at  the  rufflings 
of  the  plumes  of  a  pelican  pluming  itself  after 
it  has  been  in  the  water,  or  carefully  draw  the 


IV.    THE    RELATION    OF    ART    TO    USE.         1 3 1 

contours  of  the  wing  either  of  a  vulture  or  a 
common  swift,  or  paint  the  rose  and  vermilion 
on  that  of  a  flamingo,  without  receiving  almost 
a  new  conception  of  the  meaning  of  form  and 
colour  in  creation. 

114.  Lastly.  Your  work,  in  all  directions  I 
have  hitherto  indicated,  may  be  as  deliberate  as 
you  choose ;  there  is  no  immediate  fear  of  the 
extinction  of  many  species  of  flowers  or  animals ; 
and  the  Alps,  and  valley  of  Sparta,  will  wait 
your  leisure,  I  fear  too  long.  But  the  feudal 
and  monastic  buildings  of  Europe,  and  still  more 
the  streets  of  her  ancient  cities,  are  vanishing 
like  dreams  :  and  it  is  difficult  to  imagine  the 
mingled  envy  and  contempt  with  which  future 
generations  will  look  back  to  us,  who  still 
possessed  such  things,  yet  made  no  effort  to 
preserve,  and  scarcely  any  to  delineate  them  : 
for  when  used  as  material  of  landscape  by  the 
modern  artist,  they  are  nearly  always  super- 
ficially or  flatteringly  represented,  without  zeal 
enough  to  penetrate  their  character,  or  patience 
enough  to  render  it  in  modest  harmony.  As 
for  places  of  traditional  interest,  I  do  not  know 
an  entirely  faithful  drawing  of  any  historical 
site,    except    one    or    two    studies    made    by 


132  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

enthusiastic  young  painters  in  Palestine  and 
Egypt :  for  which,  thanks  to  them  always  :  but 
we  want  work  nearer  home. 

115.  Now  it  is  quite  probable  that  some  of 
you,  who  will  not  care  to  go  through  the  labour 
necessary  to  draw  flowers  or  animals,  may  yet 
have  pleasure  in  attaining  some  moderately  ac- 
curate skill  of  sketching  architecture,  and  greater 
pleasure  still  in  directing  it  usefully.  Suppose, 
for  instance,  we  were  to  take  up  the  historical 
scenery  in  Carlyle's  '  Frederick.'  Too  justly 
the  historian  accuses  the  genius  of  past  art, 
in  that,  types  of  too  many  such  elsewhere,  the 
galleries  of  Berlin — '  are  made  up,  like  other 
galleries,  of  goat-footed  Pan,  Europa's  Bull, 
Romulus's  She-Wolf,  and  the  Correggiosity  of 
Correggio,  and  contain,  for  instance,  no  portrait 
of  Friedrich  the  Great, — no  likeness  at  all,  or 
next  to  none  at  all,  of  the  noble  series  of  Human 
Realities,  or  any  part  of  them,  who  have  sprung, 
not  from  the  idle  brains  of  dreaming  dilettanti, 
but  from  the  head  of  God  Almighty,  to  make 
this  poor  authentic  earth  a  little  memorable  for 
us,  and  to  do  a  little  work  that  may  be  eternal 
there.'  So  Carlyle  tells  us — too  truly  !  We 
cannot  now  draw  Friedrich  for  him,  but  we  can 


IV.    THE    RELATION    OF    ART   TO    USE.         1 33 

draw  some  of  the  old  castles  and  cities  that 
were  the  cradles  of  German  life — Hohenzollern, 
Hapsburg,  Marburg,  and  such  others ; — we  may 
keep  some  authentic  likeness  of  these  for  the 
future.  Suppose  we  were  to  take  up  that  first 
volume  of  '  Friedrich,'  and  put  outlines  to  it  : 
shall  we  begin  by  looking  for  Henry  the  Fowler's 
tomb — Carlyle  himself  asks  if  he  has  any — at 
Quedlinburgh,  and  so  downwards,  rescuing  what 
we  can  ?  That  would  certainly  be  making  our 
work  of  some  true  use. 

1 1 6.  But  I  have  told  you  enough,  it  seems  to 
me,  at  least  to-day,  of  this  function  of  art  in 
recording  fact ;  let  me  now  finally,  and  with  all 
distinctness  possible  to  me,  state  to  you  its 
main  business  of  all ; — its  service  in  the  actual 
uses  of  daily  life. 

You  are  surprised,  perhaps,  to  hear  me  call 
this  its  main  business.  That  is  indeed  so,  how- 
ever. The  giving  brightness  to  picture  is  much, 
but  the  giving  brightness  to  life  more.  And 
remember,  were  it  as  patterns  only,  you  cannot, 
without  the  realities,  have  the  pictures.  You 
cannot  have  a  landscape  by  Turner,  without  a 
country  for  him  to  paint;  you  cannot  have  a  por- 
trait by  Titian,  without  a  man  to  be  pourtrayed. 


134  LECTURES   ON    ART. 

I  need  not  prove  that  to  you,  I  suppose,  in  these 
short  terms ;  but  in  the  outcome  I  can  get  no 
soul  to  believe  that  the  beginning  of  art  is  in 
getting  our  country  clean ,  and  our  people  beautiful. 
I  have  been  ten  years  trying  to  get  this  very 
plain   certainty — I    do   not    say    believed — but 
even  thought  of,  as  anything  but  a  monstrous 
proposition.     To  get  your  country  clean,  and 
your  people   lovely ; — I   assure  you    that  is  a 
necessary  work  of  art  to  begin  with  !     There 
has  indeed  been  art  in  countries  where  people 
lived  in  dirt  to  serve  God,  but  never  in  coun- 
tries where  they  lived  in  dirt  to  serve  the  devil. 
There  has   indeed  been   art  where  the  people 
were  not  all  lovely — where  even  their  lips  were 
thick — and  their  skins  black,  because  the  sun 
had  looked  upon  them ;  but  never  in  a  country 
where  the  people  were  pale  with  miserable  toil 
and  deadly  shade,  and  where  the  lips  of  youth, 
instead  of  being  full  with  blood,  were  pinched 
by  famine,  or  warped  with  poison.     And  now, 
therefore,   note  this  well,  the  gist  of  all  these 
long  prefatory  talks.      I  said  that  the  two  great 
moral  instincts  were  those  of  Order  and  Kind- 
ness.     Now,  all  the  arts  are  founded  on  agricul- 
ture by  the  hand,  and  on  the  graces,  and  kindness 


IV.     THE    RELATION    OF   ART   TO    USE.        1 35 

of  feeding,  and  dressing,  and  lodging  your  peo- 
ple. Greek  art  begins  in  the  gardens  of  Alcinous 
— perfect  order,  leeks  in  beds,  and  fountains 
in  pipes.  And  Christian  art,  as  it  arose  out  of 
chivalry,  was  only  possible  so  far  as  chivalry 
compelled  both  kings  and  knights  to  care  for 
the  right  personal  training  of  their  people  ;  it 
perished  utterly  when  those  kings  and  knights 
became  St]/bio/36poi,  devourers  of  the  people. 
And  it  will  become  possible  again  only,  when, 
literally,  the  sword  is  beaten  into  the  plough- 
share, when  your  St.  George  of  England  shall 
justify  his  name,  and  Christian  art  shall  be 
known  as  its  Master  was,  in  breaking  of  bread. 
117.  Now  look  at  the  working  out  of  this 
broad  principle  in  minor  detail ;  observe  how, 
from  highest  to  lowest,  health  of  art  has  first 
depended  on  reference  to  industrial  use.  There 
is  first  the  need  of  cup  and  platter,  especially 
of  cup ;  for  you  can  put  your  meat  on  the 
Harpies',*  or  on  any  other,  tables  ;  but  you 
must  have  your  cup  to  drink  from.  And  to 
hold  it  conveniently,  you  must  put  a  handle  to 
it ;  and  to  fill  it  when  it  is  empty  you  must 
have  a  large  pitcher  of  some  sort ;  and  to  carry 

*  Virg.,  jEii.,  iii.  209  srqq. 


I36  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

the  pitcher  you  may  most  advisably  have  two 
handles.  Modify  the  forms  of  these  needful 
possessions  according  to  the  various  require- 
ments of  drinking  largely  and  drinking  deli- 
cately ;  of  pouring  easily  out,  or  of  keeping  for 
years  the  perfume  in  ;  of  storing  in  cellars,  or 
bearing  from  fountains  ;  of  sacrificial  libation, 
of  Panathenaic  treasure  of  oil,  and  sepulchral 
treasure  of  ashes, — and  you  have  a  resultant 
series  of  beautiful  form  and  decoration,  from 
the  rude  amphora  of  red  earth  up  to  Cellini's 
vases  of  gems  and  crystal,  in  which  series,  but 
especially  in  the  more  simple  conditions  of  it, 
are  developed  the  most  beautiful  lines  and  most 
perfect  types  of  severe  composition  which  have 
yet  been  attained  by  art. 

118.  But  again,  that  you  may  fill  your  cup 
with  pure  water,  you  must  go  to  the  well  or 
spring ;  you  need  a  fence  round  the  well ;  you 
need  some  tube  or  trough,  or  other  means  of 
confining  the  stream  at  the  spring.  For  the 
conveyance  of  the  current  to  any  distance  you 
must  build  either  enclosed  or  open  aqueduct ; 
and  in  the  hot  square  of  the  city  where  you  set 
it  free,  you  find  it  good  for  health  and  pleasant- 
ness to  let  it  leap  into  a  fountain.     On  these 


IV.     THE   RELATION    OF   ART   TO    USE.        1 37 

several  needs  you  have  a  school  of  sculpture 
founded  ;  in  the  decoration  of  the  walls  of  wells 
in  level  countries,  and  of  the  sources  of  springs 
in  mountainous  ones,  and  chiefly  of  all,  where 
the  women  of  household  or  market  meet  at  the 
city  fountain. 

There  is,  however,  a  farther  reason  for  the 
use  of  art  here  than  in  any  other  material  service, 
so  far  as  we  may,  by  art,  express  our  reverence 
or  thankfulness.  Whenever  a  nation  is  in  its 
right  mind,  it  always  has  a  deep  sense  of  divinity 
in  the  gift  of  rain  from  heaven,  filling  its  heart 
with  food  and  gladness  ;  and  all  the  more  when 
that  gift  becomes  gentle  and  perennial  in  the 
flowing  of  springs.  It  literally  is  not  possible 
that  any  fruitful  power  of  the  Muses  should  be 
put  forth  upon  a  people  which  disdains  their 
Helicon;  still  less  is  it  possible  that  any  Chris- 
tian nation  should  grow  up  '  tanquam  lignum 
quod  plantatum  est  secus  decursus  aquarum,' 
which  cannot  recognise  the  lesson  meant  in 
their  being  told  of  the  places  where  Rebekah 
was  met  ; — where  Rachel, — where  Zipporah, — 
and  she  who  was  asked  for  water  under  Mount 
Gerizim  by  a  Stranger,  weary,  who  had  nothing 
to  draw  with. 


I38  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

119.  And  truly,  when  our  mountain  springs 
are  set  apart  in  vale  or  craggy  glen,  or  glade  of 
wood  green  through  the  drought  of  summer,  far 
from  cities,  then  it  is  best  to  let  them  stay  in 
their  own  happy  peace  ;  but  if  near  towns,  and 
liable  therefore  to  be  defiled  by  common  usage, 
we  could  not  use  the  loveliest  art  more  worthily 
than  by  sheltering  the  spring  and  its  first  pools 
with  precious  marbles  :  nor  ought  anything  to 
be  esteemed  more  important,  as  a  means  of 
healthy  education,  than  the  care  to  keep  the 
streams  of  it  afterwards,  to  as  great  a  distance 
as  possible,  pure,  full  of  fish,  and  easily  acces- 
sible to  children.  There  used  to  be,  thirty  years 
ago,  a  little  rivulet  of  the  Wandel,  about  an 
inch  deep,  which  ran  over  the  carriage-road 
and  under  a  foot-bridge  just  under  the  last  chalk 
hill  near  Croydon.  Alas  !  men  came  and  went ; 
and  it — did  not  go  on  for  ever.  It  has  long 
since  been  bricked  over  by  the  parish  autho- 
rities; but  there  was  more  education  in  that 
stream  with  its  minnows  than  you  could  get 
out  of  a  thousand  pounds  spent  yearly  in  the 
parish  schools,  even  though  you  were  to  spend 
every  farthing  of  it  in  teaching  the  nature  of 
oxygen   and   hydrogen,    and   the   names,   and 


IV.    THE    RELATION    OF   AR1    TC     USE.         1 39 

rate  per  minute,  of  all  the  rivers  in  Asia  and 
America. 

120.  Well,  the  gist  of  this  matter  lies  here 
then.  Suppose  we  want  a  school  of  pottery 
again  in  England,  all  we  poor  artists  are  ready 
to  do  the  best  we  can,  to  show  you  how  pretty 
a  line  may  be  that  is  twisted  first  to  one  side, 
and  then  to  the  other  ;  and  how  a  plain  house- 
hold-blue will  make  a  pattern  on  white  ;  and 
how  ideal  art  may  be  got  out  of  the  spaniel's 
colours  of  black  and  tan.  But  I  tell  you  before- 
hand, all  that  we  can  do  will  be  utterly  useless, 
unless  you  teach  your  peasant  to  say  grace,  not 
only  before  meat,  but  before  drink  ;  and  having 
provided  him  with  Greek  cups  and  platters, 
provide  him  also  with  something  that  is  not 
poisoned  to  put  into  them. 

121.  There  cannot  be  any  need  that  I  should 
trace  for  you  the  conditions  of  art  that  are 
directly  founded  on  serviceableness  of  dress, 
and  of  armour ;  but  it  is  my  duty  to  affirm  to 
you,  in  the  most  positive  manner,  that  after  re- 
covering, for  the  poor,  wholesomeness  of  food, 
your  next  step  towards  founding  schools  of 
art  in  England  must  be  in  recovering,  for  the 
poor,    decency  and  wholesomeness   of  dress; 


I4O  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

thoroughly  good  in  substance,  fitted  for  their 
daily  work,  becoming  to  their  rank  in  life,  and 
worn  with  order  and  dignity.  And  this  order 
and  dignity  must  be  taught  them  by  the  women 
of  the  upper  and  middle  classes,  whose  minds 
can  be  in  nothing  right,  as  long  as  they  are  so 
wrong  in  this  matter  as  to  endure  the  squalor 
of  the  poor,  while  they  themselves  dress  gaily. 
And  on  the  proper  pride  and  comfort  of  both 
poor  and  rich  in  dress,  must  be  founded  the 
true  arts  of  dress  ;  carried  on  by  masters  of 
manufacture  no  less  careful  of  the  perfectness 
and  beauty  of  their  tissues,  and  of  all  that  in 
substance  and  in  design  can  be  bestowed  upon 
them,  than  ever  the  armourers  of  Milan  and 
Damascus  were  careful  of  their  steel. 

122.  Then,  in  the  third  place,  having  recov- 
ered some  wholesome  habits  of  life  as  to  food 
and  dress,  we  must  recover  them  as  to  lodging. 
I  said  just  now  that  the  best  architecture  was 
but  a  glorified  roof.  Think  of  it.  The  dome 
of  the  Vatican,  the  porches  of  Rheims  or 
Chartres,  the  vaults  and  arches  of  their  aisles, 
the  canopy  of  the  tomb,  and  the  spire  of  the 
belfry,  are  all  forms  resulting  from  the  mere  re- 
quirement that  a  certain  space  shall  be  strongly 


IV.    THE    RELATION    OF   ART    TO    USE.         I4I 

covered  from  heat  and  rain.  More  than  that — 
as  I  have  tried  all  through  '  The  Stones  of 
Venice'  to  show, — the  lovely  forms  of  these 
were  every  one  of  them  developed  in  civil  and 
domestic  building,  and  only  after  their  inven- 
tion, employed  ecclesiastically  on  the  grandest 
scale.  I  think  you  cannot  but  have  noticed 
here  in  Oxford,  as  elsewhere,  that  our  modern 
architects  never  seem  to  know  what  to  do  with 
their  roofs.  Be  assured,  until  the  roofs  are 
right,  nothing  else  will  be ;  and  there  are  just 
two  ways  of  keeping  them  right.  Never  build 
them  of  iron,  but  only  of  wood  or  stone ;  and 
secondly,  take  care  that  in  every  town  the  little 
roofs  are  built  before  the  large  ones,  and  that 
everybody  who  wants  one  has  got  one.  And 
we  must  try  also  to  make  everybody  want  one. 
That  is  to  say,  at  some  not  very  advanced 
period  of  life,  men  should  desire  to  have  a 
home,  which  they  do  not  wish  to  quit  any 
more,  suited  to  their  habits  of  life,  and  likely  to 
be  more  and  more  suitable  to  them  until  their 
death.  And  men  must  desire  to  have  these 
their  dwelling-places  built  as  strongly  as  pos- 
sible, and  furnished  and  decorated  daintily,  and 
set  in  pleasant  places,  in  bright  light,  and  good 


142  LECTURES   ON    ART. 

air,  being  able  to  choose  for  themselves  that 
at  least  as  well  as  swallows.  And  when  the 
houses  are  grouped  together  in  cities,  men 
must  have  so  much  civic  fellowship  as  to  sub- 
ject their  architecture  to  a  common  law,  and  so 
much  civic  pride  as  to  desire  that  the  whole 
gathered  group  of  human  dwellings  should  be 
a  lovely  thing,  not  a  frightful  one,  on  the  face 
of  the  earth.  Not  many  weeks  ago  an  English 
clergyman,*  a  master  of  this  University,  a  man 
not  given  to  sentiment,  but  of  middle  age,  and 
great  practical  sense,  told  me,  by  accident,  and 
wholly  without  reference  to  the  subject  now 
before  us,  that  he  never  could  enter  London 
from  his  country  parsonage  but  with  closed 
eyes,  lest  the  sight  of  the  blocks  of  houses 
which  the  railroad  intersected  in  the  suburbs 
should  unfit  him,  by  the  horror  of  it,  for  his 
day's  work. 

123.  Now,  it  is  not  possible — and  I  repeat 
to  you,  only  in  more  deliberate  assertion,  what 
I  wrote  just  twenty-two  years  ago  in  the  last 
chapter  of  the  '  Seven  Lamps  of  Architecture ' 
— it  is  not  possible  to  have  any  right  morality, 
happiness,  or  art,  in  any  country  where  the 
*  Osborne  Gordon. 


IV.    THE    RELATION    OF    ART    TO    USE.         1 43 

cities  are  thus  built,  or  thus,  let  me  rather  say, 
clotted  and  coagulated  ;  spots  of  a  dreadful  mil- 
dew, spreading  by  patches  and  blotches  over 
the  country  they  consume.  You  must  have 
lovely  cities,  crystallised,  not  coagulated,  into 
form  ;  limited  in  size,  and  not  casting  out  the 
scum  and  scurf  of  them  into  an  encircling  erup- 
tion of  shame,  but  girded  each  with  its  sacred 
pomcerium,  and  with  garlands  of  gardens  full  of 
blossoming  trees  and  softly  guided  streams. 

That  is  impossible,  you  say !  it  may  be  so. 
I  have  nothing  to  do  with  its  possibility,  but 
only  with  its  indispensability.  More  than  that 
must  be  possible,  however,  before  you  can  have 
a  school  of  art ;  namely,  that  you  find  places 
elsewhere  than  in  England,  or  at  least  in  other- 
wise unserviceable  parts  of  England,  for  the 
establishment  of  manufactories  needing  the  help 
of  fire,  that  is  to  say,  of  all  the  rkyyat  fiavavcn/cal 
and  iiripprjjoi,  of  which  it  was  long  ago  known 
to  be  the  constant  nature  that ' daxoXias  /xaXicrTa 
eyovai  kcli  (p[\(ov  icai  7ro'X.eo><>  avveTTCfxeXelaOac,' 
and  to  reduce  such  manufactures  to  their  lowest 
limit,  so  that  nothing  may  ever  be  made  of  iron 
that  can  as  effectually  be  made  of  wood  or 
stone  ;  and  nothing  moved  by  steam  that  can 


144  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

be  as  effectually  moved  by  natural  forces.  And 
observe,  that  for  all  mechanical  effort  required 
in  social  life  and  in  cities,  water  power  is  in- 
finitely more  than  enough  ;  for  anchored  mills 
on  the  large  rivers,  and  mills  moved  by  sluices 
from  reservoirs  filled  by  the  tide,  will  give  you 
command  of  any  quantity  of  constant  motive 
power  you  need. 

Agriculture  by  the  hand,  then,  and  absolute 
refusal  or  banishment  of  unnecessary  igneous 
force,  are  the  first  conditions  of  a  school  of  art 
in  any  country.  And  until  you  do  this,  be  it 
soon  or  late,  things  will  continue  in  that  triumph- 
ant state  to  which,  for  want  of  finer  art,  your 
mechanism  has  brought  them  ; — that,  though 
England  is  deafened  with  spinning  wheels,  her 
people  have  not  clothes — though  she  is  black 
with  digging  of  fuel,  they  die  of  cold — and 
though  she  has  sold  her  soul  for  gain,  they 
die  of  hunger.  Stay  in  that  triumph,  if  you 
choose ;  but  be  assured  of  this,  it  is  not  one 
which  the  fine  arts  will  ever  share  with  you. 

124.  Now,-I  have  given  you  my  message,  con- 
taining, as  I  know,  offence  enough,  and  itself, 
it  may  seem  to  many,  unnecessary  enough.  But 
just  in  proportion  to  its  apparent  non-necessity, 


IV.    THE    RELATION    OF    ART   TO    USE.        1 45 

and  to  its  certain  offence,  was  its  real  need,  and 
my  real  duty  to  speak  it.  The  study  of  the 
fine  arts  could  not  be  rightly  associated  with 
the  grave  work  of  English  Universities,  with- 
out due  and  clear  protest  against  the  misdirec- 
tion of  national  energy,  which  for  the  present 
renders  all  good  results  of  such  study  on  a 
great  scale,  impossible.  I  can  easily  teach  you, 
as  any  other  moderately  good  draughtsman 
could,  how  to  hold  your  pencils,  and  how  to 
lay  your  colours ;  but  it  is  little  use  my  doing 
that,  while  the  nation  is  spending  millions  of 
money  in  the  destruction  of  all  that  pencil  or 
colour  has  to  represent,  and  in  the  promotion 
of  false  forms  of  art,  which  are  only  the  cost- 
liest and  the  least  enjoyable  of  follies.  And 
therefore  these  are  the  things  that  I  have  first 
and  last  to  tell  you  in  this  place ; — that  the 
fine  arts  are  not  to  be  learned  by  Locomotion, 
but  by  making  the  homes  we  live  in  lovely, 
and  by  staying  in  them  ; — that  the  fine  arts  are 
not  to  be  learned  by  Competition,  but  by  doing 
our  quiet  best  in  our  own  way  ; — that  the  fine 
arts  are  not  to  be  learned  by  Exhibition,  but 
by  doing  what  is  right,  and  making  what  is 
honest,  whether  it  be  exhibited  or  not ; — and, 

IO 


1 46  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

for  the  sum  of  all,  that  men  must  paint  and  build 
neither  for  pride  nor  for  money,  but  for  love  ; 
for  love  of  their  art,  for  love  of  their  neighbour, 
and  whatever  better  love  may  be  than  these, 
founded  on  these.  I  know  that  I  gave  some 
pain,  which  I  was  most  unwilling  to  give,  in 
speaking  of  the  possible  abuses  of  religious  art ; 
but  there  can  be  no  danger  of  any,  so  long  as 
we  remember  that  God  inhabits  cottages  as  well 
as  churches,  and  ought  to  be  well  lodged  there 
also.  Begin  with  wooden  floors ;  the  tesselated 
ones  will  take  care  of  themselves ;  begin  with 
thatching  roofs,  and  you  shall  end  by  splendidly 
vaulting  them ;  begin  by  taking  care  that  no 
old  eyes  fail  over  their  Bibles,  nor  young  ones 
over  their  needles,  for  want  of  rushlight,  and 
then  you  may  have  whatever  true  good  is  to  be 
got  out  of  coloured  glass  or  wax  candles.  And 
in  thus  putting  the  arts  to  universal  use,  you 
will  find  also  their  universal  inspiration,  their 
universal  benediction.  I  told  you  there  was  no 
evidence  of  a  special  Divineness  in  any  applica- 
tion of  them  ;  that  they  were  always  equally 
human  and  equally  Divine ;  and  in  closing  this 
inaugural  series  of  lectures,  into  which  I  have 
endeavoured   to  compress   the   principles   that 


IV.    THE    RELATION    OF    ART    TO    USE.         \dfi 

are  to  be  the  foundations  of  your  future  work, 
it  is  my  last  duty  to  say  some  positive  words 
as  to  the  Divinity  of  all  art,  when  it  is  truly 
fair,  or  truly  serviceable. 

125.  Every  seventh  day,  if  not  oftener,  the 
greater  number  of  well-meaning  persons  in 
England  thankfully  receive  from  their  teachers 
a  benediction,  couched  in  those  terms: — 'The 
grace  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  the  Love 
of  God,  and  the  Fellowship  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
be  with  you.'  Now  I  do  not  know  precisely 
what  sense  is  attached  in  the  English  public 
mind  to  those  expressions.  But  what  I  have 
to  tell  you  positively  is  that  the  three  things  do 
actually  exist,  and  can  be  known  if  you  care  to 
know  them,  and  possessed  if  you  care  to  possess 
them ;  and  that  another  thing  exists,  besides 
these,  of  which  we  already  know  too  much. 

First,  by  simply  obeying  the  orders  of  the 
Founder  of  your  religion,  all  grace,  graciousness, 
or  beauty  and  favour  of  gentle  life,  will  be 
given  to  you  in  mind  and  body,  in  work  and  in 
rest.  The  Grace  of  Christ  exists,  and  can  be 
had  if  you  will.  Secondly,  as  you  know  more 
and  more  of  the  created  world,  you  will  find  that 
the  true  will  of  its  Maker  is  that  its  creatures 


I48  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

should  be  happy  ; — that  He  has  made  every- 
thing beautiful  in  its  time  and  its  place,  and 
that  it  is  chiefly  by  the  fault  of  men,  when 
they  are  allowed  the  liberty  of  thwarting  His 
laws,  that  Creation  groans  or  travails  in  pain. 
The  Love  of  God  exists,  and  you  may  see  it, 
and  live  in  it  if  you  will.  Lastly,  a  Spirit  does 
actually  exist  which  teaches  the  ant  her  path, 
the  bird  her  building,  and  men,  in  an  instinctive 
and  marvellous  way,  whatever  lovely  arts  and 
noble  deeds  are  possible  to  them.  Without  it 
you  can  do  no  good  thing.  To  the  grief  of  it 
you  can  do  many  bad  ones.  In  the  possession 
of  it  is  your  peace  and  your  power. 

And  there  is  a  fourth  thing,  of  which  we  al- 
ready know  too  much.  There  is  an  evil  spirit 
whose  dominion  is  in  blindness  and  in  cowardice, 
as  the  dominion  of  the  Spirit  of  wisdom  is  in 
clear  sight  and  in  courage. 

And  this  blind  and  cowardly  spirit  is  for  ever 
telling  you  that  evil  things  are  pardonable,  and 
you  shall  not  die  for  them,  and  that  good  things 
are  impossible,  and  you  need  not  live  for  them  ; 
and  that  gospel  of  his  is  now  the  loudest  that 
is  preached  in  your  Saxon  tongue.  You  will 
find  some  day,  to  your  cost,  if  you  believe  the 


IV.    THE    RELATION    OF   ART    TO    USE.        1 49 

first  part  of  it,  that  it  is  not  true  ;  but  you  may 
never,  if  you  believe  the  second  part  of  it,  find, 
to  your  gain,  that  also,  untrue ;  and  therefore 
I  pray  you  with  all  earnestness  to  prove,  and 
know  within  your  hearts,  that  all  things  lovely 
and  righteous  are  possible  for  those  who  believe 
in  their  possibility,  and  who  determine  that,  for 
their  part,  they  will  make  every  day's  work  con- 
tribute to  them.     Let  every  dawn  of  morning 
be  to  you  as  the  beginning  of  life,  and  every 
setting  sun  be  to  you  as  its  close  : — then  let 
every  one  of  these  short  lives  leave  its  sure 
record  of  some  kindly  thing  done  for  others — 
some  goodly  strength  or  knowledge  gained  for 
yourselves  ;  so,  from  day  to  day,  and  strength 
to  strength,  you  shall  build  up  indeed,  by  Art, 
by  Thought,  and  by  Just  Will,  an  Ecclesia  of 
England,  of  which  it  shall  not  be  said,    '  See 
what  manner  of  stones  are  here,'  but,  '  See  what 
manner  of  men.' 


LECTURE  V. 


LINE. 


1 26.  You  will,  I  doubt  not,  willingly  permit  me 
to  begin  your  lessons  in  real  practice  of  art  in 
the  words  of  the  greatest  of  English  painters  : 
one  also,  than  whom  there  is  indeed  no  greater, 
among  those  of  any  nation,  or  any  time, — our 
own  gentle  Reynolds. 

He  says  in  his  first  discourse  : — '  The  Direc- 
tors '  (of  the  Academy)  '  ought  more  particularly 
to  watch  over  the  genius  of  those  students,  who 
being  more  advanced,  are  arrived  at  that  critical 
period  of  study,  on  the  nice  management  of 
which  their  future  turn  of  taste  depends.  At 
that  age  it  is  natural  for  them  to  be  more 
captivated  with  what  is  brilliant,  than  with 
what  is  solid,  and  to  prefer  splendid  negligence 
to  painful  and  humiliating  exactness.' 

'  A  facility  in  composing, — a  lively  and,  what 


V.    LINE.  151 

is  called,  a  "  masterly  "  handling  of  the  chalk 
or  pencil,  are,  it  must  be  confessed,  captivating 
qualities  to  young  minds,  and  become  of  course 
the  objects  of  their  ambition.  They  endeavour 
to  imitate  these  dazzling  excellences,  which  they 
will  find  no  great  labour  in  attaining.  After 
much  time  spent  in  these  frivolous  pursuits,  the 
difficulty  will  be  to  retreat ;  but  it  will  then  be 
too  late  ;  and  there  is  scarce  an  instance  of  re- 
turn to  scrupulous  labour,  after  the  mind  has 
been  debauched  and  deceived  by  this  fallacious 
mastery.' 

127.  I  read  you  these  words,  chiefly  that  Sir 
Joshua,  who  founded,  as  first  President,  the 
Academical  schools  of  English  painting,  in  these 
well-known  discourses,  may  also  begin,  as  he 
has  truest  right  to  do,  our  system  of  instruction 
in  this  University.  But  secondly,  I  read  them 
that  I  may  press  on  your  attention  these  singu- 
lar words,  '  painful  and  humiliating  exactness.' 
Singular,  as  expressing  the  first  conditions  of 
the  study  required  from  his  pupils  by  the  master, 
who,  of  all  men  except  Velasquez,  seems  to  have 
painted  with  the  greatest  ease.  It  is  true  that 
he  asks  this  pain,  this  humiliation,  only  from 
youths  who  intend  to  follow  the  profession  of 


152  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

artists.  But  if  you  wish  yourselves  to  know 
anything  of  the  practice  of  art,  you  must  not 
suppose  that  because  your  study  will  be  more 
desultory  than  that  of  Academy  students,  it 
may  therefore  be  less  accurate.  The  shorter  the 
time  you  have  to  give,  the  more  careful  you 
should  be  to  spend  it  profitably ;  and  I  would 
not  wish  you  to  devote  one  hour  to  the  practice 
of  drawing,  unless  you  are  resolved  to  be  in- 
formed in  it  of  all  that  in  an  hour  can  be 
taught. 

128.  I  speak  of  the  practice  of  drawing  only ; 
though  elementary  study  of  modelling  may  per- 
haps some  day  be  advisably  connected  with  it  ; 
but  I  do  not  wish  to  disturb,  or  amuse,  you  with 
a  formal  statement  of  the  manifold  expectations 
I  have  formed  respecting  your  future  work.  You 
will  not,  I  am  sure,  imagine  that  I  have  begun 
without  a  plan,  nor  blame  my  reticence  as  to  the 
parts  of  it  which  cannot  yet  be  put  into  execution, 
and  which  there  may  occur  reason  afterwards 
to  modify.  My  first  task  must  unquestionably 
be  to  lay  before  you  right  and  simple  methods 
of  drawing  and  colouring. 

I  use  the  word  '  colouring '  without  reference 
to  any  particular  vehicle  of  colour,  for  the  laws 


V.    LINE.  153 

of  good  painting  are  the  same,  whatever  liquid 
is  employed  to  dissolve  the  pigments.  But  the 
technical  management  of  oil  is  more  difficult 
than  that  of  water-colour,  and  the  impossibility 
of  using  it  with  safety  among  books  or  prints, 
and  its  unavailableness  for  note-book  sketches 
and  memoranda,  are  sufficient  reasons  for  not 
introducing  it  in  a  course  of  practice  intended 
chiefly  for  students  of  literature.  On  the  con- 
trary, in  the  exercises  of  artists,  oil  should  be 
the  vehicle  of  colour  employed  from  the  first. 
The  extended  practice  of  water-colour  painting, 
as  a  separate  skill,  is  in  every  way  harmful  to 
the  arts  :  its  pleasant  slightness  and  plausible 
dexterity  divert  the  genius  of  the  painter  from 
its  proper  aims,  and  withdraw  the  attention  of 
the  public  from  excellence  of  higher  claim ;  nor 
ought  any  man,  who  has  the  consciousness  of 
ability  for  good  work,  to  be  ignorant  of,  or  indo- 
lent in  employing,  the  methods  of  making  its 
results  permanent  as  long  as  the  laws  of  Nature 
allow.  It  is  surely  a  severe  lesson  to  us  in  this 
matter,  that  the  best  works  of  Turner  could  not 
be  shown  to  the  public  for  six  months  without 
being  destroyed, — and  that  his  most  ambitious 
ones  for  the  most  part  perished,  even   before 


154  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

they  could  be  shown.  I  will  break  through  my 
law  of  reticence,  however,  so  far  as  to  tell  you 
that  I  have  hope  of  one  day  interesting  you 
greatly  (with  the  help  of  the  Florentine  masters), 
in  the  study  of  the  arts  of  moulding  and  paint- 
ing porcelain ;  and  to  induce  some  of  you  to  use 
your  future  power  of  patronage  in  encouraging 
the  various  branches  of  this  art,  and  turning 
the  attention  of  the  workmen  of  Italy  from  the 
vulgar  tricks  of  minute  and  perishable  mosaic 
to  the  exquisite  subtilties  of  form  and  colour 
possible  in  the  perfectly  ductile,  afterwards  un- 
alterable clay.  And  one  of  the  ultimate  results 
of  such  craftsmanship  might  be  the  production 
of  pictures  as  brilliant  as  painted  glass, — as 
delicate  as  the  most  subtle  water-colours,  and 
more  permanent  than  the  Pyramids. 

129.  And  now  to  begin  our  own  work.  In 
order  that  we  may  know  how  rightly  to  learn  to 
draw  and  to  paint,  it  will  be  necessary,  will  it 
not,  that  we  know  first  what  we  are  to  aim  at 
doing ; — what  kind  of  representation  of  nature 
is  best  ? 

I  will  tell  you  in  the  words  of  Lionardo.  'That 
is  the  most  praiseworthy  painting  which  has 
most,   conformity  with   the  thing  represented,' 


V.    LINE.  155 

'  quella  pittura  e  piu  laudabile,  la  quale  ha  piu 
conformita  con  la  cosa  mitata,'  (ch.  276).  In 
plain  terms,  '  the  painting  which  is  likest  nature 
is  the  best'  And  you  will  find  by  referring 
to  the  preceding  chapter,  '  come  lo  specchio  e 
maestro  de'  pittori,'  how  absolutely  Lionardo 
means  what  he  says.  Let  the  living  thing,  (he 
tells  us,)  be  reflected  in  a  mirror,  then  put  your 
picture  beside  the  reflection,  and  match  the 
one  with  the  other.  And  indeed,  the  very  best 
painting  is  unquestionably  so  like  the  mirrored 
truth,  that  all  the  world  admits  its  excellence. 
Entirely  first-rate  work  is  so  quiet  and  natural 
that  there  can  be  no  dispute  over  it ;  you  may 
not  particularly  admire  it,  but  you  will  find  no 
fault  with  it.  Second-rate  painting  pleases  one 
person  much,  and  displeases  another ;  but  first- 
rate  painting  pleases  all  a  little,  and  intensely 
pleases  those  who  can  recognise  its  unostenta- 
tious skill. 

130.  This,  then,  is  what  we  have  first  got  to 
do — to  make  our  drawing  look  as  like  the  thing 
we  have  to  draw  as  we  can. 

Now,  all  objects  are  seen  by  the  eye  as  patches 
of  colour  of  a  certain  shape,  with  gradations  of 
colour  within  them.     And,  unless  their  colours 


156  LECTURES   ON    ART. 

be  actually  luminous,  as  those  of  the  sun,  or  of 
fire,  these  patches  of  different  hues  are  suffi- 
ciently imitable,  except  so  far  as  they  are  seen 
stereoscopically.  You  will  find  Lionardo  again 
and  again  insisting  on  the  stereoscopic  power 
of  the  double  sight :  but  do  not  let  that  trouble 
you  ;  you  can  only  paint  what  you  can  see  from 
one  point  of  sight,  but  that  is  quite  enough. 
So  seen,  then,  all  objects  appear  to  the  human 
eye  simply  as  masses  of  colour  of  variable  depth, 
texture,  and  outline.  The  outline  of  any  object 
is  the  limit  of  its  mass,  as  relieved  against 
another  mass.  Take  a  crocus,  and  lay  it  on  a 
green  cloth.  You  will  see  it  detach  itself  as  a 
mere  space  of  yellow  from  the  green  behind  it, 
as  it  does  from  the  grass.  Hold  it  up  against 
the  window — you  will  see  it  detach  itselt  as  a 
dark  space  against  the  white  or  blue  behind  it. 
In  either  case  its  outline  is  the  limit  of  the 
space  of  light  or  dark  colour  by  which  it  ex- 
presses itself  to  your  sight.  That  outline  is 
therefore  infinitely  subtle — not  even  a  line,  but 
the  place  of  a  line,  and  that,  also,  made  soft 
by  texture.  In  the  finest  painting  it  is  there- 
fore slightly  softened ;  but  it  is  necessary  to  be 
able   to  draw  it  with  absolute  sharpness  and 


V.    LINE.  157 

precision.  The  art  of  doing  this  is  to  be  obtained 
by  drawing  it  as  an  actual  line,  which  art  is  to 
be  the  subject  of  our  immediate  enquiry  ;  but  I 
must  first  lay  the  divisions  of  the  entire  subject 
completely  before  you. 

131.  I  have  said  that  all  objects  detach  them- 
selves as  masses  of  colour.  Usually,  light  and 
shade  are  thought  of  as  separate  from  colour  ; 
but  the  fact  is  that  all  nature  is  seen  as  a  mosaic 
composed  of  gradated  portions  of  different  co- 
lours, dark  or  light.  There  is  no  difference  in 
the  quality  of  these  colours,  except  as  affected 
by  texture.  You  will  constantly  hear  lights  and 
shades  spoken  of  as  if  these  were  different  in 
their  nature,  and  to  be  painted  in  different 
ways.  But  every  light  is  a  shadow  compared 
to  higher  lights,  till  we  reach  the  brightness  of 
the  sun  ;  and  every  shadow  is  a  light  compared 
to  lower  shadows,  till  we  reach  the  darkness 
of  night. 

Every  colour  used  in  painting,  except  pure 
white  and  black,  is  therefore  a  light  and  shade 
at  the  same  time.  It  is  a  light  with  reference 
to  all  below  it,  and  a  shade  with  reference  to 
all  above  it. 

132.  The  solid  forms  of  an  object,  that  is  to 


158  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

say,  the  projections  or  recessions  of  its  surface 
within  the  outline,  are,  for  the  most  part,  ren- 
dered visible  by  variations  in  the  intensity  or 
quantity  of  light  falling  on  them.  The  study 
of  the  relations  between  the  quantities  of  this 
light,  irrespectively  of  its  colour,  is  the  second 
division  of  the  regulated  science  of  painting. 

133.  Finally,  the  qualities  and  relations  of 
natural  colours,  the  means  of  imitating  them, 
and  the  laws  by  which  they  become  separately 
beautiful,  and  in  association  harmonious,  are  the 
subjects  of  the  third  and  final  division  of  the 
painter's  study.  I  shall  endeavour  at  once  to 
state  to  you  what  is  most  immediately  desirable 
for  you  to  know  on  each  of  these  topics,  in  this 
and  the  two  following  lectures. 

134.  What  we  have  to  do,  then,  from  begin- 
ning to  end,  is,  I  repeat  once  more,  simply  to 
draw  spaces  of  their  true  shape,  and  to  fill  them 
with  colours  which  shall  match  their  colours  ; 
quite  a  simple  thing  in  the  definition  of  it,  not 
quite  so  easy  in  the  doing  of  it. 

But  it  is  something  to  get  this  simple  defini- 
tion ;  and  I  wish  you  to  notice  that  the  terms 
of  it  are  complete,  though  I  do  not  introduce 
the  term  "light,"  or  "shadow."     Painters  who 


V.    LINE.  159 

have  no  eye  for  colour  have  greatly  confused  and 
falsified  the  practice  of  art  by  the  theory  that 
shadow  is  an  absence  of  colour.     Shadow  is,  on 
the  contrary,  necessary  to  the  full  presence  of 
colour;  for  every  colour  is  a  diminished  quantity 
or  energy  of  light ;  and,   practically,  it  follows 
from  what  I  have  just   told   you — (that  every 
light  in  painting  is  a  shadow  to  higher  lights, 
and  every  shadow  a  light  to  lower  shadows) — 
that   also   every  colour  in  painting  must  be  a 
shadow  to  some  brighter  colour,  and  a  light  to 
some  darker  one — all  the  while  being  a  positive 
colour  itself.      And  the  great  splendour  of  the 
Venetian  school  arises  from  their  having  seen 
and  held  from  the  beginning  tnis  great  fact — 
that  shadow  is  as  much  colour  as  light,  often 
much  more.      In  Titian's  fullest  red  the  lights 
are  pale  rose-colour,    passing  into  white — the 
shadows  warm   deep  crimson.      In  Veronese's 
most  splendid  orange,  the  lights  are  pale,  the 
shadows  crocus  colour  ;  and  so  on.     In  nature, 
dark  sides  if  seen  by  reflected  lights,  are  almost 
always  fuller  or  warmer  in  colour  than  the  lights; 
and  the  practice  of  the  Bolognese  and  Roman 
schools,  in  drawing  their  shadows  always  dark 
and  cold,  is  false  from  the  beginning,  and  renders 


l60  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

perfect  painting  for  ever  impossible  in  those 
schools,  and  to  all  who  follow  them. 

135.  Every  visible  space,  then,  be  it  dark  or 
light,  is  a  space  of  colour  of  some  kind,   or  of  • 
black  or  white.     And  you  have  to  enclose  it 
with  a  true  outline,  and  to  paint  it  with  its  true 
colour. 

But  before  considering  how  we  are  to  draw 
this  enclosing  line,  I  must  state  to  you  some- 
thing about  the  use  of  lines  in  general,  by 
different  schools. 

I  said  just  now  that  there  was  no  difference 
between  the  masses  of  colour  of  which  all  visible 
nature  is  composed,  except  in  texture.  Now  tex- 
tures are  principally  of  three  kinds  : — 

(1)  Lustrous,  as  of  water  and  glass. 

(2)  Bloomy,  or  velvety,  as  of  a  rose-leaf 

or  peach. 

(3)  Linear,     produced     by    filaments    or 

threads,  as  in  feathers,  fur,  hair, 
and  woven  or  reticulated  tissues. 

All  these  three  sources  of  pleasure  to  the  eye 
in  texture  are  united  in  the  best  ornamental 
work.  A  fine  picture  by  Fra  Angelico,  or  a 
fine  illuminated  page  of  missal,  has  large  spaces 


V.    LINE.  l6l 

of  gold,  partly  burnished  and  lustrous,  partly 
dead ; — some  of  it  chased  and  enriched  with 
linear  texture,  and  mingled  with  imposed  or 
inlaid  colours,  soft  in  bloom  like  that  of  the 
rose-leaf.  But  many  schools  of  art  affect  for 
the  most  part  one  kind  of  texture  only,  and  a 
vast  quantity  of  the  art  of  all  ages  depends  for 
great  part  of  its  power  on  texture  produced  by 
multitudinous  lines.  Thus,  wood  engraving, 
line  engraving  properly  so  called,  and  countless 
varieties  of  sculpture,  metal  work,  and  textile 
fabric,  depend  for  great  part  of  the  effect,  for  the 
mystery,  softness,  and  clearness  of  their  colours, 
or  shades,  on  modification  of  the  surfaces  by 
lines  or  threads.  Even  in  advanced  oil  painting, 
the  work  often  depends  for  some  part  of  its 
effect  on  the  texture  of  the  canvas. 

136.  Again,  the  .arts  of  etching  and  mezzotint 
engraving  depend  principally  for  their  effect  on 
the  velvety,  or  bloomy  texture  of  their  darkness, 
and  the  best  of  all  painting  is  the  fresco  work  of 
great  colourists,  in  which  the  colours  are  what 
is  usually  called  dead;  but  they  are  anything 
but  dead,  they  glow  with  the  luminous  bloom 
of  life.  The  frescoes  of  Correggio,  when  not 
repainted,  are  supreme  in  this  quality. 


1 62  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

137.  While,  however,  in  all  periods  of  art 
these  different  textures  are  thus  used  in  va- 
rious styles,  and  for  various  purposes,  you  will 
find  that  there  is  a  broad  historical  division  of 
schools,  which  will  materially  assist  you  in  un- 
derstanding them.  The  earliest  art  in  most 
countries  is  linear,  consisting  of  interwoven,  or 
richly  spiral  and  otherwise  involved  arrange- 
ments of  sculptured  or  painted  lines,  on  stone, 
wood,  metal  or  clay.  It  is  generally  character- 
istic of  savage  life,  and  of  feverish  energy  of 
imagination.  I  shall  examine  these  schools  with 
you  hereafter,  under  the  general  head  of  the 
'  Schools  of  Line.'* 

Secondly,  even  in  the  earliest  periods,  among 
powerful  nations,  this  linear  decoration  is  more 
or  less  filled  with  chequered  or  barred  shade,  and 
begins  at  once  to  represent  animal  or  floral  form, 
by  filling  its  outlines  with  flat  shadow,  or  with 
flat  colour.  And  here  we  instantly  find  two  great 
divisions  of  temper  and  thought.  The  Greeks 
look  upon  all  colour  first  as  light ;  they  are,  as 
compared  with  other  races,  insensitive  to  hue, 
exquisitely  sensitive  to  phenomena  of  light.  And 
their  linear  school  passes  into  one  of  flat  masses 
*  See  'Ariadne  Florentina,'  §  5. 


V.    LINE.  163 

of  light  and  darkness,  represented  in  the  main 
by  four  tints,  —white,  black,  and  two  reds,  one 
brick  colour,  more  or  less  vivid,  the  other  dark 
purple;  these  two  standing  mentally  their  fa- 
vourite Tropfyvpeos  colour,  in  its  light  and  dark 
powers.  On  the  other  hand,  many  of  the 
Northern  nations  are  at  first  entirely  insensible 
to  light  and  shade,  but  exquisitely  sensitive  to 
colour,  and  their  linear  decoration  is  filled  with 
flat  tints,  infinitely  varied,  but  with  no  expres- 
sion of  light  and  shade.  Both  these  schools 
have  a  limited  but  absolute  perfection  of  their 
own,  and  their  peculiar  successes  can  in  no 
wise  be  imitated,  except  by  the  strictest  observ- 
ance of  the  same  limitations. 

138.  You  have  then,  Line  for  the  earliest  art, 
branching  into — 

(1)  Greek,  Line  with  Light. 

(2)  Gothic,  Line  with  Colour. 

Now,  as  art  completes  itself,  each  of  these 
schools  retain  their  separate  characters,  but  they 
cease  to  depend  on  lines,  and  learn  to  represent 
masses  instead,  becoming  more  refined  at  the 
same  time  in  all  modes  of  perception  and  exe- 
cution. 

And  thus  there  arise  the  two  vast  mediaeval 


164  lectures  on  art. 

schools  ;  one  of  flat  and  infinitely  varied  colour, 
with  exquisite  character  and  sentiment  added,  in 
the  forms  represented ;  but  little  perception  of 
shadow.  The  other,  of  light  and  shade,  with 
exquisite  drawing  of  solid  form,  and  little  percep- 
tion of  colour:  sometimes  as  little  of  sentiment. 
Of  these,  the  school  of  flat  colour  is  the  more 
vital  one ;  it  is  always  natural  and  simple,  if  not 
great ; — and  when  it  is  great,  it  is  very  great. 

The  school  of  light  and  shade  associates  itself 
with  that  of  engraving  ;  it  is  essentially  an  aca- 
demical school,  broadly  dividing  light  from  dark- 
ness, and  begins  by  assuming  that  the  light  side 
of  all  objects  shall  be  represented  by  white,  and 
the  extreme  shadow  by  black.  On  this  conven- 
tional principle  it  reaches  a  limited  excellence  of 
its  own,  in  which  the  best  existing  types  of  en- 
graving are  executed,  and  ultimately,  the  most 
regular  expressions  of  organic  form  in  painting. 

Then,  lastly, — the  schools  of  colour  advance 
steadily,  till  they  adopt  from  those  of  light  and 
shade  whatever  is  compatible  with  their  own 
power, — and  then  you  have  perfect  art,  repre- 
sented centrally  by  that  of  the  great  Venetians. 

The  schools  of  light  and  shade,  on  the  other 
hand,  are  partly,  in  their  academical  formulas, 


V.    LINE.  165 

too  haughty,  and  partly,  in  their  narrowness 
of  imagination,  too  weak,  to  learn  much  from 
the  schools  of  colour  ;  and  pass  into  a  state  of 
decadence,  consisting  partly  in  proud  endea- 
vours to  give  painting  the  qualities  of  sculp- 
ture, and  partly  in  the  pursuit  of  effects  of  light 
and  shade,  carried  at  last  tcextreme  sensational 
subtlety  by  the  Dutch  school.  In  their  fall,  they 
drag  the  schools  of  colour  down  with  them ; 
and  the  recent  history  of  art  is  one  of  confused 
effort  to  find  lost  roads,  and  resume  allegiance 
to  violated  principles. 

139.  That,   briefly,  is  the  map  of  the  great 
schools,  easily  remembered  in  this  hexagonal 

form  : — 

1. 

Line. 
Early  schools. 
2-  3- 

Line  and  Light.  Line  and  Colour. 

Greek  clay.  Gothic  glass. 

4-  5- 

Mass  and  Light.  Mass  and  Colour. 

(Represented  by  Lionardo,         (Represented  by  (Jiorgione, 
and  his  schools.)  and  his  schools.) 

6. 

Mass,  Light,  and  Colour. 

(Represented  by  Titian, 

and  his  schools.) 


1 66  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

And  I  wish  you  with  your  own  eyes  and  fingers 
to  trace,  and  in  your  own  progress  follow,  the 
method  of  advance  exemplified  by  these  great 
schools.  I  wish  you  to  begin  by  getting  com- 
mand of  line,  that  is  to  say,  by  learning  to  draw 
a  steady  line,  limiting  with  absolute  correctness 
the  form  or  space  you  intend  it  to  limit ;  to 
proceed  by  getting  command  over  flat  tints,  so 
that  you  may  be  able  to  fill  the  spaces  you  have 
enclosed,  evenly,  either  with  shade  or  colour 
according  to  the  school  you  adopt ;  and  finally 
to  obtain  the  power  of  adding  such  fineness  of 
gradation  within  the  masses,  as  shall  express 
their  roundings,  and  their  characters  of  texture. 
140.  Those  who  are  familiar  with  the  me- 
thods of  existing  schools  must  be  aware  that 
I  thus  nearly  invert  their  practice  of  teaching. 
Students  at  present  learn  to  draw  details  first, 
and  to  colour  and  mass  them  afterwards.  I  shall 
endeavour  to  teach  you  to  arrange  broad  masses 
and  colours  first ;  and  you  shall  put  the  details 
into  them  afterwards.  I  have  several  reasons 
for  this  audacity,  of  which  you  may  justly  re- 
quire me  to  state  the  principal  ones.  The  first 
is  that,  as  I  have  shown  you,  this  method  I  wish 
you  to  follow,  is  the  natural  one.     All  great 


V.    LINE.  I67 

artist  nations  have  actually  learned  to  work  in 
this  way,  and  I   believe  it  therefore  the  right, 
as  the  hitherto  successful  one.     Secondly,  you 
will  find  it  less  irksome   than  the  reverse  me- 
thod, and  more  definite.     When  a  beginner  is 
set  at  once  to  draw  details,  and  make  finished 
studies  in  light  and  shade,  no  master  can  cor- 
rect his  innumerable  errors,  or  rescue  him  out 
of  his  endless  difficulties.     But  in  the  natural 
method,    he  can    correct,  if  he  will,  his    own 
errors.  You  will  have  positive  lines  to  draw,  pre- 
senting no  more  difficulty,  except  in  requiring 
greater  steadiness  of  hand,  than  the  outlines  of 
a  map.     They  will  be  generally  sweeping  and 
simple,  instead  of  being  jagged  into  promon- 
tories and  bays  ;  but  assuredly,  they  may  be 
drawn  rightly  (with  patience),  and  their  Tight- 
ness tested  with  mathematical  accuracy.     You 
have  only  to  follow  your  own  line  with  trac- 
ing paper,  and  apply  it  to  your  own  copy.      If 
they  do  not  correspond,  you  are  wrong,  and  you 
need  no  master  to  show  you  where.    Again  ;  in 
washing  in  a  flat  tone  of  colour  or  shade,  you 
can  always  see  yourself  if  it  is  flat,  and  kept  well 
within  the  edges ;  and  you  can  set  a  piece  of 
your  colour  side  by  side  with  that  of  the  copy  ; 


1 68  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

if  it  does  not  match,  you  are  wrong ;  and,  again, 
you  need  no  one  to  tell  you  so,  if  your  eye  for 
colour  is  true.  It  happens,  indeed,  more  fre- 
quently than  would  be  supposed,  that  there  is 
real  want  of  power  in  the  eye  to  distinguish 
colours  ;  and  this  I  even  suspect  to  be  a  con- 
dition which  has  been  sometimes  attendant  on 
high  degrees  of  cerebral  sensitiveness  in  other 
directions  ;  but  such  want  of  faculty  would  be 
detected  in  your  first  two  or  three  exercises 
by  this  simple  method,  while,  otherwise,  you 
might  go  on  for  years  endeavouring  to  colour 
from  nature  in  vain.  Lastly,  and  this  is  a 
very  weighty  collateral  reason,  such  a  method 
enables  me  to  show  you  many  things,  besides 
the  art  of  drawing.  Every  exercise  that  I  pre- 
pare for  you  will  be  either  a  portion  of  some 
important  example  of  ancient  art,  or  of  some 
natural  object.  However  rudely  or  unsuccess- 
fully you  may  draw  it,  (though  I  anticipate  from 
you  neither  want  of  care  nor  success,)  you  will 
nevertheless  have  learned  what  no  words  could 
have  so  forcibly  or  completely  taught  you,  either 
respecting  early  art  or  organic  structure ;  and  I 
am  thus  certain  that  not  a  moment  you  spend 
attentively  will  be  altogether  wasted,  and  that, 


V.    LINE.  169 

generally,  you  will  be  twice  gainers  by  every 
effort. 

141.  There  is,  however,  yet  another  point  in 
which  I  think  a  change  of  existing  methods  will 
be  advisable.  You  have  here  in  Oxford  one  of 
the  finest  collections  in  Europe  of  drawings  in 
pen,  and  chalk,  by  Michael  Angelo  and  Raphael. 
Of  the  whole  number,  you  cannot  but  have 
noticed  that  not  one  is  weak  or  studentlike — 
all  are  evidently  master's  work. 

You  may  look  the  galleries  of  Europe  through, 
and  so  far  as  I  know,  or  as  it  is  possible  to 
make  with  safety  any  so  wide  generalization, 
you  will  not  find  in  them  a  childish  or  feeble 
drawing,  by  these,  or  by  any  other  great  master. 

And  farther  : — by  the  greatest  men — by 
Titian,  Velasquez,  or  Veronese — you  will  hardly 
find  an  authentic  drawing,  at  all.  For  the  fact 
is,  that  while  we  moderns  have  always  learned, 
or  tried  to  learn,  to  paint  by  drawing,  the  ancients 
learned  to  draw  by  painting — or  by  engraving, 
more  difficult  still.  The  brush  was  put  into 
their  hands  when  they  were  children,  and  they 
were  forced  to  draw  with  that,  until,  if  they  used 
the  pen  or  crayon,  they  used  it  either  with  the 
lightness  of  a  brush  or  the  decision  of  a  graver. 


Ij70  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

Michael  Angelo  uses  his  pen  like  a  chisel ;  but 
all  of  them  seem  to  use  it  only  when  they  are 
in  the  height  of  their  power,  and  then  for  rapid 
notation  of  thought  or  for  study  of  models ; 
but  never  as  a  practice  helping  them  to  paint. 
Probably  exercises  of  the  severest  kind  were 
gone  through  in  minute  drawing  by  the  appren- 
tices of  the  goldsmiths,  of  which  we  hear  and 
know  little,  and  which  were  entirely  matters  of 
course.  To  these,  and  to  the  exquisiteness  of 
care  and  touch  developed  in  working  precious 
metals,  may  probably  be  attributed  the  final 
triumph  of  Italian  sculpture.  Michael  Angelo, 
when  a  boy,  is  said  to  have  copied  engravings 
by  Schongauer  and  others,  with  his  pen,  in 
facsimile  so  true  that  he  could  pass  his  draw- 
ings as  the  originals.  But  I  should  only  dis- 
courage you  from  all  farther  attempts  in  art, 
if  I  asked  you  to  imitate  any  of  these  accom- 
plished drawings  of  the  gem-artificers.  You 
have,  fortunately,  a  most  interesting  collection 
of  them  already  in  your  galleries,  and  may  try 
your  hands  on  them  if  you  will.  But  I  desire 
rather  that  you  should  attempt  nothing  except 
what  can  by  determination  be  absolutely  accom- 
plished, and  be  known  and  felt  by  you  to  be 


V.     LINE.  I  7  I 

accomplished  when  it  is  so.  Now,  therefore,  I  am 
going  at  once  to  comply  with  that  popular 
instinct  which,  I  hope,  so  far  as  you  care  for 
drawing  at  all,  you  are  still  boys  enough  to  feel, 
the  desire  to  paint.  Paint  you  shall;  but  remem- 
ber, I  understand  by  painting  what  you  will  not 
find  easy.  Paint  you  shall ;  but  daub  or  blot 
you  shall  not :  and  there  will  be  even  more  care 
required,  though  care  of  a  pleasanter  kind,  to 
follow  the  lines  traced  for  you  with  the  point 
of  the  brush  than  if  they  had  been  drawn  with 
that  of  a  crayon.  But  from  the  very  beginning 
(though  carrying  on  at  the  same  time  an  inci- 
dental practice  with  crayon  and  lead  pencil), 
you  shall  try  to  draw  a  line  of  absolute  correct- 
ness with  the  point,  not  of  pen  or  crayon,  but 
of  the  brush,  as  Apelles  did,  and  as  all  coloured 
lines  are  drawn  on  Greek  vases.  A  line  of 
absolute  correctness,  observe.  I  do  not  care 
how  slowly  you  do  it,  or  with  how  many  altera- 
tions, junctions,  or  retouchings ;  the  one  thing 
I  ask  of  you  is,  that  the  line  shall  be  right,  and 
right  by  measurement,  to  the  same  minuteness 
which  you  would  have  to  give  in  a  Government 
chart  to  the  map  of  a  dangerous  shoal. 

142.  This  question    of  measurement   is,  as 


172  LECTURES  ON   ART. 

you  are  probably  aware,  one  much  vexed  in  art 
schools  ;  but  it  is  determined  indisputably  by 
the  very  first  words  written  by  Lionardo  :  '  II 
giovane  deve  prima  imparare  prospettiva,  per  le 
misure  d'ogni  cosa.' 

Without  absolute  precision  of  measurement, 
it  is  certainly  impossible  for  you  to  learn  per- 
spective rightly  ;  and,  as  far  as  I  can  judge,  im- 
possible to  learn  anything  else  rightly.  And  in 
my  past  experience  of  teaching,  I  have  found 
that  such  precision  is  of  all  things  the  most 
difficult  to  enforce  on  the  pupils.  It  is  easy  to 
persuade  to  diligence,  or  provoke  to  enthusiasm  ; 
but  I  have  found  it  hitherto  impossible  to  humi- 
liate one  clever  student  into  perfect  accuracy. 

It  is,  therefore,  necessary,  in  beginning  a 
system  of  drawing  for  the  University,  that  no 
opening  should  be  left  for  failure  in  this  essential 
matter.  I  hope  you  will  trust  the  words  of  the 
most  accomplished  draughtsman  of  Italy,  and 
the  painter  of  the  great  sacred  picture  which, 
perhaps  beyond  all  others,  has  influenced  the 
mind  of  Europe,  when  he  tells  you  that  your 
first  duty  is  '  to  learn  perspective  by  the  measures 
of  everything.'  For  perspective,  I  will  under- 
take  that  it  shall   be  made,   practically,  quite 


V.    LINE.  I73 

easy  to  you  ;  if  you  care  to  master  the  mathe- 
matics of  it,  they  are  carried  as  far  as  is  neces- 
sary for  you  in  my  treatise  written  in  1859,  of 
which  copies  shall  be  placed  at  your  disposal  in 
your  working  room.  But  the  habit  and  dexter- 
ity of  measurement  you  must  acquire  at  once, 
and  that  with  engineer's  accuracy.  I  hope  that 
in  our  now  gradually  developing  system  of 
education,  elementary  architectural  or  military 
drawing  will  be  required  at  all  public  schools ; 
so  that  when  youths  come  to  the  University, 
it  may  be  no  more  necessary  for  them  to  pass 
through  the  preliminary  exercises  of  perspective 
than  of  grammar :  for  the  present,  I  will  place 
in  your  series  examples  simple  and  severe 
enough  for  all  necessary  practice. 

143.  And  while  you  are  learning  to  measure, 
and  to  draw,  and  lay  flat  tints,  with  the  brush, 
you  must  also  get  easy  command  of  the  pen ; 
for  that  is  not  only  the  great  instrument  for  the 
first  sketching,  but  its  right  use  is  the  foun- 
dation of  the  art  of  illumination.  In  nothing 
is  fine  art  more  directly  founded  on  utility  than 
in  the  close  dependence  of  decorative  illumina- 
tion on  good  writing.  Perfect  illumination  is 
only  writing  made  lovely  ;  the  moment  it  passes 


174  LECTURES   ON   ART. 

into  picture-making  it  has  lost  its  dignity  and 
function.  For  pictures,  small  or  great,  if  beauti- 
ful, ought  not  to  be  painted  on  leaves  of  books, 
to  be  worn  with  service ;  and  pictures,  small 
or  great,  not  beautiful,  should  be  painted  no- 
where. But  to  make  writing  itself  beautiful, 
— to  make  the  sweep  of  the  pen  lovely, — is  the 
true  art  of  illumination  ;  and  I  particularly  wish 
you  to  note  this,  because  it  happens  continually 
that  young  girls  who  are  incapable  of  tracing 
a  single  curve  with  steadiness,  much  more  of 
delineating  any  ornamental  or  organic  form 
with  correctness,  think  that  work,  which  would 
be  intolerable  in  ordinary  drawing,  becomes 
tolerable  when  it  is  employed  for  the  decoration 
of  texts  ;  and  thus  they  render  all  healthy  pro- 
gress impossible,  by  protecting  themselves  in 
inefficiency  under  the  shield  of  good  motive. 
Whereas  the  right  way  of  setting  to  work  is  to 
make  themselves  first  mistresses  of  the  art  of 
writing  beautifully  ;  and  then  to  apply  that  art  in 
its  proper  degrees  of  development  to  whatever 
they  desire  permanently  to  write.  And  it  is 
indeed  a  much  more  truly  religious  duty  for 
girls  to  acquire  a  habit  of  deliberate,  legible, 
and  lovely  penmanship  in  their  daily  use  of  the 


V.    LINE.  175 

pen,  than  to  illuminate  any  quantity  of  texts. 
Having  done  so,  they  may  next  discipline  their 
hands  into  the  control  of  lines  of  any  length, 
and,  finally,  add  the  beauty  of  colour  and  form 
to  the  flowing  of  these  perfect  lines.  But  it  is 
only  after  years  of  practice  that  they  will  be 
able  to  illuminate  noble  words  rightly  for  the 
eyes,  as  it  is  only  after  years  of  practice  that 
they  can  make  them  melodious  rightly,  with 
the  voice. 

144.  I  shall  not  attempt,  in  this  lecture,  to 
give  you  any  account  of  the  use  of  the  pen  as 
a  drawing  instrument.  That  use  is  connected 
in  many  ways  with  principles  both  of  shading 
and  of  engraving,  hereafter  to  be  examined  at 
length.  But  I  may  generally  state  to  you  that 
its  best  employment  is  in  giving  determination 
to  the  forms  in  drawings  washed  with  neutral 
tint ;  and  that,  in  this  use  of  it,  Holbein  is  quite 
without  a  rival.  I  have  therefore  placed  many 
examples  of  his  work  among  your  copies.  It 
is  employed  for  rapid  study  by  Raphael  and 
other  masters  of  delineation,  who,  in  such  cases, 
give  with  it  also  partial  indications  of  shadow ; 
but  it  is  not  a  proper  instrument  for  shading, 
when  drawings   are  intended  to  be  deliberate 


I76  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

and  complete,  nor  do  the  great  masters  so  em- 
ploy it.  Its  virtue  is  the  power  of  producing  a 
perfectly  delicate,  equal,  and  decisive  line  with 
great  rapidity ;  and  the  temptation  allied  with 
that  virtue  is  the  licentious  haste,  and  chance- 
swept,  instead  of  strictly-commanded,  curvature. 
In  the  hands  of  very  great  painters  it  obtains, 
like  the  etching  needle,  qualities  of  exquisite 
charm  in  this  free  use ;  but  all  attempts  at  imi- 
tation of  these  confused  and  suggestive  sketches 
must  be  absolutely  denied  to  yourselves  while 
students.  You  may  fancy  you  have  produced 
something  like  them  with  little  trouble  ;  but, 
be  assured,  it  is  in  reality  as  unlike  them  as 
nonsense  is  unlike  sense ;  and  that,  if  you  per- 
sist in  such  work,  you  will  not  only  prevent 
your  own  executive  progress,  but  you  will  never 
understand  in  all  your  lives  what  good  painting 
means.  Whenever  you  take  a  pen  in  your  hand, 
if  you  cannot  count  every  line  you  lay  with 
it,  and  say  why  you  make  it  so  long  and  no 
longer,  and  why  you  drew  it  in  that  direction 
and  no  other,  your  work  is  bad.  The  only  man 
who  can  put  his  pen  to  full  speed,  and  yet  re- 
tain command  over  every  separate  line  of  it,  is 
Diirer.      He  has  done  this  in  the  illustrations 


V.    LINE.  177 

of  a  missal  preserved  at  Munich,  which  have 
been   fairly   facsimiled ;    and   of  these    I    have 
placed  several  in  your  copying  series,  with  some 
of  Turner's  landscape  etchings,  and  other  ex- 
amples of  deliberate  pen   work,  such   as  will 
advantage  you  in  early  study.     The  proper  use 
of  them  you  will  find  explained  in  the  catalogue. 
145.  And,  now,  but  one  word  more  to-day. 
Do  not  impute  to  me  the  impertinence  of  setting 
before  you  what  is  new  in  this  system  of  prac- 
tice as  being  certainly  the  best  method.     No 
English  artists  are  yet  agreed  entirely  on  early 
methods ;   and  even  Reynolds  expresses  with 
some  hesitation  his  conviction  of  the  expediency 
of  learning  to  draw  with  the  brush.     But  this 
method  that  I  show  you  rests  in  all  essential 
points  on  his  authority,  on  Leonardo's,  or  on 
the  evident  as  well  as  recorded  practice  of  the 
most  splendid  Greek  and  Italian  draughtsmen ; 
and  you  may  be  assured  it  will  lead  you,  how- 
ever  slowly,   to    great  and  certain   skill.      To 
what  degree  of  skill,  must  depend  greatly  on 
yourselves ;  but  I  know  that  in  practice  of  this 
kind  you  cannot  spend  an  hour  without  defi- 
nitely gaining,  both  in  true  knowledge  of  art, 
and  in  useful  power  of  hand;  and  for  what 

12 


I78  LECTURES   ON   ART. 

may  appear  in  it  too  difficult,  I  must  shelter  or 
support  myself,  as  in  beginning,  so  in  closing 
this  first  lecture  on  practice,  by  the  words  of 
Reynolds  :  '  The  impetuosity  of  youth  is  dis- 
gusted at  the  slow  approaches  of  a  regular  siege, 
and  desires,  from  mere  impatience  of  labour,  to 
take  the  citadel  by  storm.  They  must  there- 
fore be  told  again  and  again  that  labour  is  the 
only  price  of  solid  fame ;  and  that,  whatever 
their  force  of  genius  may  be,  there  is  no  easy 
method  of  becoming  a  good  painter." 


LECTURE  VI. 

LIGHT. 

146.  The  plan  of  the  divisions  of  art-schools 
which  I  gave  you  in  the  last  lecture  is  of  course 
only  a  first  germ  of  classification,  on  which  we 
are  to  found  farther  and  more  defined  state- 
ment ;  but  for  this  very  reason  it  is  necessary 
that  every  term  of  it  should  be  very  clear  in 
your  minds. 

And  especially  I  must  explain,  and  ask  you  to 
note  the  sense  in  which  I  use  the  word  'mass.' 
Artists  usually  employ  that  work  to  express  the 
spaces  of  light  and  darkness,  or  of  colour,  into 
which  a  picture  is  divided.  But  this  habit  of 
theirs  arises  partly  from  their  always  speaking 
of  pictures  in  which  the  lights  represent  solid 
form.  If  they  had  instead  been  speaking  of  flat 
tints,  as,  for  instance,  of  the  gold  and  blue  in 
this  missal  page,  they  would  not  have  called 
them  '  masses,'  but  '  spaces '  of  colour.     Now 


180  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

both  for  accuracy  and  convenience'  sake,  you 
will  find  it  well  to  observe  this  distinction,  and 
to  call  a  simple  flat  tint  a  space  of  colour ;  and 
only  the  representation  of  solid  or  projecting 
form  a  mass. 

I  use,  however,  the  word  '  line '  rather  than 
1  space '  in  the  second  and  third  heads  of  our 
general  scheme,  at  p.  165,  because  you  cannot 
limit  a  flat  tint  but  by  a  line,  or  the  locus  of 
a  line:  whereas  a  gradated  tint,  expressive  of 
mass,  may  be  lost  at  its  edges  in  another,  with- 
out any  fixed  limit ;  and  practically  is  so,  in  the 
works  of  the  greatest  masters. 

147.  You  have  thus,  in  your  hexagonal 
scheme,  the  expression  of  the  universal  manner 
of  advance  in  painting  :  Line  first ;  then  line 
enclosing  flat  spaces  coloured  or  shaded ;  then 
the  lines  vanish,  and  the  solid  forms  are  seen 
within  the  spaces.  That  is  the  universal  law  of 
advance  : — I,  line ;  2,  flat  space  ;  3,  massed  or 
solid  space.  But  as  you  see,  this  advance  may 
be  made,  and  has  been  made,  by  two  different 
roads ;  one  advancing  always  through  colour, 
the  other  through  light  and  shade.  And  these 
two  roads  are  taken  by  two  entirely  different 
kinds  of  men.     The  way  by  colour  is  taken  by 


VI.    LIGHT.  l8l 

men  of  cheerful,  natural,  and  entirely  sane  dis- 
position in  body  and  mind,  much  resembling, 
even  at  its  strongest,  the  temper  of  well-brought- 
up  children  : — too  happy  to  think  deeply,  yet 
with  powers  of  imagination  by  which  they  can 
live  other  lives  than  their  actual  ones :  make- 
believe  lives,  while  yet  they  remain  conscious 
all  the  while  that  they  are  making  believe — 
therefore  entirely  sane.  They  are  also  abso- 
lutely contented  ;  they  ask  for  no  more  light 
than  is  immediately  around  them,  and  cannot 
see  anything  like  darkness,  but  only  green  and 
blue,  in  the  earth  and  sea. 

148.  The  way  by  light  and  shade  is,  on  the 
contrary,  taken  by  men  of  the  highest  powers 
of  thought,  and  most  earnest  desire  for  truth  ; 
they  long  for  light,  and  for  knowledge  of  all 
that  light  can  show.  But  seeking  for  light,  they 
perceive  also  darkness  ;  seeking  for  truth  and 
substance,  they  find  vanity.  They  look  for  form 
in  the  earth, — for  dawn  in  the  sky ;  and  seeking 
these,  they  find  formlessness  in  the  earth,  and 
night  in  the  sky. 

Now  remember,  in  these  introductory  lectures 
I  am  putting  before  you  the  roots  of  things, 
which  are  strange,  and  dark,  and  often,  it  may 


1 82  LECTURES  ON  ART. 

seem,  unconnected  with  the  branches.  You  may 
not  at  present  think  these  metaphysical  state- 
ments necessary  ;  but  as  you  go  on,  you  will 
find  that  having  hold  of  the  clue  to  methods 
of  work  through  their  springs  in  human  cha- 
racter, you  may  perceive  unerringly  where  they 
lead,  and  what  constitutes  their  wrongness  and 
rightness  ;  and  when  we  have  the  main  princi- 
ples laid  down,  all  others  will  develope  them- 
selves in  due  succession,  and  everything  will 
become  more  clearly  intelligible  to  you  in  the 
end,  for  having  been  apparently  vague  in  the 
beginning.  You  know  when  one  is  laying  the 
foundation  of  a  house,  it  does  not  show  directly 
where  the  rooms  are  to  be. 

149.  You  have  then  these  two  great  divisions 
of  human  mind  :  one,  content  with  the  colours 
of  things,  whether  they  are  dark  or  light ;  the 
other  seeking  light  pure,  as  such,  and  dreading 
darkness  as  such.  One,  also,  content  with  the 
coloured  aspects  and  visionary  shapes  of  things  ; 
the  other  seeking  their  form  and  substance. 
And,  as  I  said,  the  school  of  knowledge,  seeking 
light,  perceives,  and  has  to  accept  and  deal  with 
obscurity  :  and  seeking  form,  it  has  to  accept 
and  deal  with  formlessness,  or  death. 


VI.    LIGHT.  I83 

Farther,  the  school  of  colour  in  Europe,  using 
the  word  Gothic  in  its  broadest  sense,  is  essen- 
tially Gothic  Christian;  and  full  of  comfort  and 
peace.  Again,  the  school  of  light  is  essentially 
Greek,  and  full  of  sorrow.  I  cannot  tell  you 
which  is  right,  or  least  wrong.  I  tell  you  only 
what  I  know — this  vital  distinction  between 
them  :  the  Gothic  or  colour  school  is  always 
cheerful,  the  Greek  always  oppressed  by  the 
shadow  of  death  ;  and  the  stronger  its  masters 
are,  the  closer  that  body  of  death  grips  them. 
The  strongest  whose  work  I  can  show  you  in 
recent  periods  is  Holbein  ;  next  to  him  is  Leon- 
ardo ;  and  then  Diirer :  but  of  the  three  Holbein 
is  the  strongest,  and  with  his  help  I  will  put  the 
two  schools  in  their  full  character  before  you  in 
a  moment. 

150.  Here  is,  first,  the  photograph  of  an  en- 
tirely characteristic  piece  of  the  great  colour 
school.  It  is  by  Cima  of  Conegliano,  a  moun- 
taineer, like  Luini,  born  under  the  Alps  of  Friuli. 
His  Christian  name  was  John  Baptist :  he  is 
here  painting  his  name-Saint ;  the  whole  picture 
full  of  peace,  and  intense  faith  and  hope,  and 
deep  joy  in  light  of  sky,  and  fruit  and  flower  and 
weed  of  earth.      It  was  painted  for  the  church  of 


184  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

Our  Lady  of  the  Garden  at  Venice,  La  Madonna 
dell'  Orto  (properly  Madonna  of  the  Kitchen 
Garden),  and  it  is  full  of  simple  flowers,  and  has 
the  wild  strawberry  of  Cima's  native  mountains 
gleaming  through  the  grass. 

Beside  it  I  will  put  a  piece  of  the  strongest 
work  of  the  school  of  light  and  shade — strongest 
because  Holbein  was  a  colourist  also ;  but  he 
belongs,  nevertheless,  essentially  to  the  chiaro- 
scuro school.  You  know  that  his  name  is  con- 
nected, in  ideal  work,  chiefly  with  his  '  Dance 
of  Death.'  I  will  not  show  you  any  of  the 
terror  of  that ;  only  a  photograph  of  his  well- 
known  'Dead  Christ.'  It  will  at  once  show 
you  how  completely  the  Christian  art  of  this 
school  is  oppressed  by  its  veracity,  and  forced 
to  see  what  is  fearful,  even  in  what  it  most 
trusts. 

You  may  think  I  am  showing  you  contrasts 
merely  to  fit  my  theories.  But  there  is  Diirer's 
'  Knight  and  Death,'  his  greatest  plate  ;  and 
if  I  had  Lionardo's  '  Medusa '  here,  which  he 
painted  when  only  a  boy,  you  would  have 
seen  how  he  was  held  by  the  same  chain. 
And  you  cannot  but  wonder  why,  this  being 
the   melancholy   temper   of  the    great   Greek 


VI.    LIGHT.  I85 

or  naturalistic  school,  I  should  have  called  it 
the  school  of  light.  I  call  it  so  because  it  is 
through  its  intense  love  of  light  that  the  dark- 
ness becomes  apparent  to  it,  and  through  its 
intense  love  of  truth  and  form  that  all  mystery 
becomes  attractive  to  it.  And  when,  having 
learned  these  things,  it  is  joined  to  the  school 
of  colour,  you  have  the  perfect,  though  always, 
as  I  will  show  you,  pensive,  art  of  Titian  and 
his  followers. 

151.  But  remember,  its  first  development, 
and  all  its  final  power,  depend  on  Greek  sorrow, 
and  Greek  religion. 

The  school  of  light  is  founded  in  the  Doric 
worship  of  Apollo,  and  the  Ionic  worship  of 
Athena,  as  the  spirits  of  life  in  the  light,  and 
of  life  in  the  air,  opposed  each  to  their  own 
contrary  deity  of  death — Apollo  to  the  Python, 
Athena  to  the  Gorgon — Apollo  as  life  in  light. 
to  the  earth  spirit  of  corruption  in  darkness  ; — 
Athena,  as  life  by  motion,  to  the  Gorgon  spirit 
of  death  by  pause,  freezing  or  turning  to  stone : 
both  of  the  great  divinities  taking  their  glory 
from  the  evil  they  have  conquered  ;  both  of 
them,  when  angry,  taking  to  men  the  form  of 
the  evil  which  is  their  opposite — Apollo  slaying 


1 86  LECTURES   ON    ART. 

by  poisoned  arrow,  by  pestilence  ;  Athena  by 
cold,  the  black  aegis  on  her  breast. 

These  are  the  definite  and  direct  expressions 
of  the  Greek  thoughts  respecting  death  and 
life.  But  underlying  both  these,  and  far  more 
mysterious,  dreadful,  and  yet  beautiful,  there 
is  the  Greek  conception  of  spiritual  darkness  ; 
of  the  anger  of  fate,  whether  foredoomed  or 
avenging ;  the  root  and  theme  of  all  Greek  tra- 
gedy ;  the  anger  of  the  Erinnyes,  and  Demeter 
Erinnys,  compared  to  which  the  anger  either 
of  Apollo  or  Athena  is  temporary  and  partial  : 
— and  also,  while  Apollo  or  Athena  only  slay, 
the  power  of  Demeter  and  the  Eumenides 
is  over  the  whole  life  ;  so  that  in  the  stories 
of  Bellerophon,  of  Hippolytus,  of  Orestes,  of 
(Edipus,  you  have  an  incomparably  deeper 
shadow  than  any  that  was  possible  to  the 
thought  of  later  ages,  when  the  hope  of  the 
Resurrection  had  become  definite.  And  if  you 
keep  this  in  mind,  you  will  find  every  name 
and  legend  of  the  oldest  history  become  full  of 
meaning  to  you.  All  the  mythic  accounts  of 
Greek  sculpture  begin  in  the  legends  of  the 
family  of  Tantalus.  The  main  one  is  the  mak- 
ing of  the  ivory  shoulder  of  Pelops  after  Demeter 


VI.    LIGHT.  187 

has  eaten  the  shoulder  of  flesh.  With  that  you 
have  Broteas,  the  brother  of  Pelops,  carving 
the  first  statue  of  the  mother  of  the  gods  ; 
and  you  have  his  sister,  Niobe,  weeping  her- 
self to  stone  under  the  anger  of  the  deities  of 
light.  Then  Pelops  himself,  the  dark-faced, 
gives  name  to  the  Peloponnesus,  which  you  may 
therefore  read  as  the  '  isle  of  darkness ; '  but 
its  central  city,  Sparta,  the  '  sown  city,'  is 
connected  with  all  the  ideas  of  the  earth  as 
life-giving.  And  from  her  you  have  Helen, 
the  representative  of  light  in  beauty,  and  the 
Fratres  Helenae — 'lucida  sidera  ; '  and,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  hills,  the  brightness  of  Argos, 
with  its  correlative  darkness  over  the  Atreidte, 
marked  to  you  by  Helios  turning  away  his  face 
from  the  feast  of  Thyestes. 

152.  Then  join  with  these  the  Northern  le- 
gends connected  with  the  air.  It  does  not 
matter  whether  you  take  Dorus  as  the  son  of 
Apollo  or  the  son  of  Helen  ;  he  equally  sym- 
bolizes the  power  of  light :  while  his  brother, 
iEolus,  through  all  his  descendants,  chiefly  in 
Sisyphus,  is  confused  or  associated  with  the 
real  god  of  the  winds,  and  represents  to  you  the 
power  of  the  air.     And  then,  as  this  conception 


1 88  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

enters  into  art,  you  have  the  myths  of  Daedalus, 
the  flight  of  Icarus,  and  the  story  of  Phrixus  and 
Helle,  giving  you  continual  associations  of  the 
physical  air  and  light,  ending  in  the  power  of 
Athena  over  Corinth  as  well  as  over  Athens. 

Now,  once  having  the  clue,  you  can  work 
out  the  sequels  for  yourselves  better  than  I  can 
for  you  ;  and  you  will  soon  find  even  the  earli- 
est or  slightest  grotesques  of  Greek  art  become 
full  of  interest.  For  nothing  is  more  wonder- 
ful than  the  depth  of  meaning  which  nations 
in  their  first  days  of  thought,  like  children,  can 
attach  to  the  rudest  symbols  ;  and  what  to  us 
is  grotesque  or  ugly,  like  a  little  child's  doll, 
can  speak  to  them  the  loveliest  things.  I  have 
brought  you  to-day  a  few  more  examples  of 
early  Greek  vase  painting,  respecting  which 
remember  generally  that  its  finest  development 
is  for  the  most  part  sepulchral.  You  have,  in 
the  first  period,  always  energy  in  the  figures, 
light  in  the  sky  or  upon  the  figures ;  *  in  the 
second  period,  while  the  conception  of  the  di- 
vine power  remains  the  same,  it  is  thought  of 
as  in  repose,  and  the  light  is  in  the  god,  not 
in  the  sky ;  in  the  time  of  decline,  the  divine 
*  See  Note  in  the  Catalogue  on  No.  201. 


VI.    LIGHT.  189 

power  is  gradually  disbelieved,  and  all  form 
and  light  are  lost  together.  With  that  period 
I  wish  you  to  have  nothing  to  do.  You  shall 
not  have  a  single  example  of  it  set  before  you, 
but  shall  rather  learn  to  recognise  afterwards 
what  is  base  by  its  strangeness.  These,  which 
are  to  come  early  in  the  third  group  of  your 
Standard  series,  will  enough  represent  to  you 
the  elements  of  early  and  late  conception  in  the 
Greek  mind  of  the  deities  of  light. 

153.  First  (S.  204),  you  have  Apollo  ascend- 
ing from  the  sea ;  thought  of  as  the  physical 
sunrise  :  only  a  circle  of  light  for  his  head  ;  his 
chariot  horses,  seen  foreshortened,  black  against 
the  day-break,  their  feet  not  yet  risen  above 
the  horizon.  Underneath  is  the  painting  from 
the  opposite  side  of  the  same  vase  :  Athena  as 
the  morning  breeze,  and  Hermes  as  the  morn- 
ing cloud,  flying  across  the  waves  before  the 
sunrise.  At  the  distance  I  now  hold  them 
from  you,  it  is  scarcely  possible  for  you  to  see 
that  they  are  figures  at  all,  so  like  are  they 
to  broken  fragments  of  flying  mist ;  and  when 
you  look  close,  you  will  see  that  as  Apollo's 
face  is  invisible  in  the  circle  of  light,  Mercury's 
is  invisible  in  the  broken  form  of  cloud  :   but 


I90  LECTURES   ON    ART. 

I  can  tell  you  that  it  is  conceived  as  reverted, 
looking  back  to  Athena  ;  the  grotesque  appear- 
ance of  feature  in  the  front  is  the  outline  of  his 
hair. 

These  two  paintings  are  excessively  rude, 
and  of  the  archaic  period  ;  the  deities  being 
yet  thought  of  chiefly  as  physical  powers  in 
violent  agency. 

Underneath  these  two  are  Athena  and  Her- 
mes, in  the  types  attained  about  the  time  of 
Phidias;  but,  of  course,  rudely  drawn  on  the 
vase,  and  still  more  rudely  in  this  print  from 
Le  Normant  and  De  Witte.  For  it  is  impos- 
sible (as  you  will  soon  find  if  you  try  for  your- 
self) to  give  on  a  plane  surface  the  grace  of 
figures  drawn  on  one  of  solid  curvature,  and 
adapted  to  all  its  curves  :  and  among  other 
minor  differences,  Athena's  lance  is  in  the  ori- 
ginal nearly  twice  as  tall  as  herself,  and  has 
to  be  cut  short  to  come  into  the  print  at  all. 
Still,  there  is  enough  here  to  show  you  what 
I  want  you  to  see — the  repose,  and  entirely 
realized  personality,  of  the  deities  as  conceived 
in  the  Phidian  period.  The  relation  of  the  two 
deities  is,  I  believe,  the  same  as  in  the  paint- 
ing above,  though  probably  there  is   another 


VI.    LIGHT.  191 

added  of  more  definite  kind.  But  the  physical 
meaning  still  remains — Athena  unhelmeted,  as 
the  gentle  morning  wind,  commanding  the  cloud 
Hermes  to  slow  flight.  His  petasus  is  slung 
at  his  back,  meaning  that  the  clouds  are  not 
yet  opened  or  expanded  in  the  sky. 

154.  Next  (S.  205),  you  have  Athena,  again 
unhelmeted  and  crowned  with  leaves,  walking 
between  two  nymphs,  who  are  crowned  also 
with  leaves ;  and  all  the  three  hold  flowers  in 
their  hands,  and  there  is  a  fawn  walking  at 
Athena's  feet. 

This  is  still  Athena  as  the  morning  air,  but 
upon  the  earth  instead  of  in  the  sky,  with  the 
nymphs  of  the  dew  beside  her ;  the  flowers 
and  leaves  opening  as  they  breathe  upon  them. 
Note  the  white  gleam  of  light  on  the  fawn's 
breast ;  and  compare  it  with  the  next  following 
examples  : — (underneath  this  one  is  the  contest 
of  Athena  and  Poseidon,  which  does  not  bear 
on  our  present  subject). 

Next  (S.  206),  Artemis  as  the  moon  of 
morning,  walking  low  on  the  hills,  and  sing- 
ing to  her  lyre  ;  the  fawn  beside  her,  with  the 
gleam  of  light  and  sunrise  on  its  ear  and 
breast.      Those  of  you  who  are  often  out  in 


192  LECTURES   ON    ART, 

the  dawntime  know  that  there  is  no  moon  so 
glorious  as  that  gleaming  crescent,  though  in 
its  wane,  ascending  before  the  sun. 

Underneath,  Artemis,  and  Apollo,  of  Phidian 
time. 

Next  (S.  207),  Apollo  walking  on  the  earth, 
god  of  the  morning,  singing  to  his  lyre  ;  the 
fawn  beside  him,  again  with  the  gleam  of  light 
on  its  breast.  And  underneath,  Apollo,  cross- 
ing the  sea  to  Delphi,  of  the  Phidian  time. 

155.  Now  you  cannot  but  be  struck  in  these 
three  examples  with  the  similarity  of  action  in 
Athena,  Apollo,  and  Artemis,  drawn  as  deities 
of  the  morning ;  and  with  the  association  in 
every  case  of  the  fawn  with  them.  It  has  been 
said  (I  will  not  interrupt  you  with  authorities) 
that  the  fawn  belongs  to  Apollo  and  Diana  be- 
cause stags  are  sensitive  to  music  ;  (are  they  ?). 
But  you  see  the  fawn  is  here  with  Athena  of 
the  dew,  though  she  has  no  lyre  ;  and  I  have 
myself  no  doubt  that  in  this  particular  relation 
to  the  gods  of  morning  it  always  stands  as  the 
symbol  of  wavering  and  glancing  motion  on  the 
ground,  as  well  as  of  the  light  and  shadow 
through  the  leaves,  chequering  the  ground  as 
the  fawn  is  dappled.     Similarly  the  spots  on 


VI.    LIGHT.  193 

the  nebris  of  Dionysus,  thought  of  sometimes 
as  stars  (airo  t?}<?  tcov  aaTpoiv  ttolklXuis,  Dio- 
dorus,  I.  Il),  as  well  as  those  of  his  panthers, 
and  the  cloudings  of  the  tortoise-shell  of  Her- 
mes, are  all  significant  of  this  light  of  the  sky 
broken  by  cloud-shadow. 

156.  You  observe  also  that  in  all  the  three 
examples  the  fawn  has  light  on  its  ears,  and 
face,  as  well  as  its  breast.  In  the  earliest 
Greek  drawings  of  animals,  bars  of  white  are 
used  as  one  means  of  detaching  the  figures 
from  the  ground  ;  ordinarily  on  the  under  side 
of  them,  marking  the  lighter  colour  of  the  hair 
in  wild  animals.  But  the  placing  of  this  bar 
of  white,  or  the  direction  of  the  face  in  deities 
of  light,  (the  faces  and  flesh  of  women  being 
always  represented  as  white,)  may  become  ex- 
pressive of  the  direction  of  the  light,  when 
that  direction  is  important.  Thus  we  are  en- 
abled at  once  to  read  the  intention  of  this 
Greek  symbol  of  the  course  of  a  day  (in  the 
centre-piece  of  S.  208,  which  gives  you  the 
types  of  Hermes).  At  the  top  you  have  an 
archaic  representation  of  Hermes  stealing 
Io  from  Argus.  Argus  is  here  the  Night  ; 
his   grotesque    features    monstrous;    his    hair 

13 


194  LECTURES    ON   ART. 

overshadowing  his  shoulders ;  Hermes  on  tip- 
toe, stealing  upon  him,  and  taking  the  cord  which 
is  fastened  to  the  horn  of  Io  out  of  his  hand 
without  his  feeling  it.  Then,  underneath,  you 
have  the  course  of  an  entire  day.  Apollo  first, 
on  the  left,  dark,  entering  his  chariot,  the  sun 
not  yet  risen.  In  front  of  him  Artemis,  as 
the  moon,  ascending  before  him,  playing  on 
her  lyre,  and  looking  back  to  the  sun.  In 
the  centre,  behind  the  horses,  Hermes,  as  the 
cumulus  cloud  at  mid-day,  wearing  his  petasus 
heightened  to  a  cone,  and  holding  a  flower  in 
his  right  hand;  indicating  the  nourishment  of 
the  flowers  by  the  rain  from  the  heat  cloud. 
Finally,  on  the  right,  Latona,  going  down  as 
the  evening,  lighted  from  the  right  by  the  sun, 
now  sunk  ;  and  with  her  feet  reverted,  signi- 
fying the  reluctance  of  the  departing  day. 

Finally,  underneath,  you  have  Hermes  of  the 
Phidian  period,  as  the  floating  cumulus  cloud, 
almost  shapeless  (as  you  see  him  at  this  dis- 
tance) ;  with  the  tortoise-shell  lyre  in  his  hand, 
barred  with  black,  and  a  fleece  of  white  cloud, 
not  level  but  oblique,  under  his  feet.  (Compare 
the  '  8ia  twv  kolXqjv — TrXdyiai,  and  the  rela- 
tions of  the  '  alyiSo?  fyloxos  'A0dva,'  with  the 


VI.    LIGHT.  195 

clouds  as  the  moon's  messengers,  in  Aristoph- 
anes ;  and  note  of  Hermes  generally,  that  you 
never  find  him  flying  as  a  Victory  flies,  but 
always,  if  moving  fast  at  all,  clambering  along, 
as  it  were,  as  a  cloud  gathers  and  heaps  itself: 
the  Gorgons  stretch  and  stride  in  their  flight, 
half  kneeling,  for  the  same  reason,  running  or 
gliding  shapelessly  along  in  this  stealthy  way.) 

157.  And  now  take  this  last  illustration,  of 
a  very  different  kind.  Here  is  an  effect  of 
morning  light  by  Turner  (S.  301),  on  the  rocks 
of  Otley-hill,  near  Leeds,  drawn  long  ago,  when 
Apollo,  and  Artemis,  and  Athena,  still  some- 
times were  seen,  and  felt,  even  near  Leeds.  The 
original  drawing  is  one  of  the  great  Farnley 
series,  and  entirely  beautiful.  I  have  shown,  in 
the  last  volume  of  '  Modern  Painters/  how  well 
Turner  knew  the  meaning  of  Greek  legends: 
— he  was  not  thinking  of  them,  however,  when 
he  made  this  design  ;  but,  unintentionally,  has 
given  us  the  very  effect  of  morning  light  we 
want :  the  glittering  of  the  sunshine  on  dewy 
grass,  half  dark  ;  and  the  narrow  gleam  of  it 
on  the  sides  and  head  of  the  stag  and  hind. 

158.  These  few  instances  will  be  enough  to 
show  you  how  we  may  read  in  the  early  art 


196  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

of  the  Greeks  their  strong  impressions  of  the 
power  of  light.  You  will  find  the  subject  en- 
tered into  at  somewhat  greater  length  in  my 
'  Queen  of  the  Air  ; '  and  if  you  will  look  at 
the  beginning  of  the  7th  book  of  Plato's 
'  Polity/  and  read  carefully  the  passages  in  the 
context  respecting  the  sun  and  intellectual  sight, 
you  will  see  how  intimately  this  physical  love 
of  light  was  connected  with  their  philosophy, 
in  its  search,  as  blind  and  captive,  for  better 
knowledge.  I  shall  not  attempt  to  define  for 
you  to-day  the  more  complex  but  much  shal- 
lower forms  which  this  love  of  light,  and  the 
philosophy  that  accompanies  it,  take  in  the 
mediaeval  mind  ;  only  remember  that  in  future, 
when  I  briefly  speak  of  the  Greek  school  of 
art  with  reference  to  questions  of  delineation, 
I  mean  the  entire  range  of  the  schools,  from 
Homer's  days  to  our  own,  which  concern  them- 
selves with  the  representation  of  light,  and  the 
effects  it  produces  on  material  form — beginning 
practically  for  us  with  these  Greek  vase  paint- 
ings, and  closing  practically  for  us  with  Turner's 
sunset  on  the  Temeraire ;  being  throughout  a 
school  of  captivity  and  sadness,  but  of  intense 
power ;  and  which  in  its  technical  method  of 


VI.    LIGHT.  197 

shadow   on  material   form,   as  well  as    in    its 

essential  temper,  is  centrally  represented  to  you 

by  Diirer's  two  great  engravings  of  the  '  Melen- 

colia '  and  the  '  Knight  and   Death.'     On  the 

other  hand,  when  I  briefly  speak  to  you  of  the 

Gothic  school,  with  reference  to  delineation,  I 

mean  the  entire  and  much  more  extensive  range 

of  schools  extending  from   the  earliest  art  in 

Central  Asia  and  Egypt  down  to  our  own  day 

in  India  and  China  : — schools  which  have  been 

content  to  obtain  beautiful  harmonies  of  colour 

without  any  representation  of  light ;  and  which 

have,  many  of  them,  rested  in  such  imperfect 

expressions  of  form  as  could  be  so  obtained  ; 

schools  usually  in  some   measure  childish,  or 

restricted  in  intellect,  and  similarly  childish  or 

restricted  in  their  philosophies  or  faiths  :  but 

contented  in  the  restriction  ;  and  in  the  more 

powerful  races,  capable  of  advance  to   nobler 

development  than   the   Greek   schools,  though 

the  consummate  art  of  Europe  has  only  been 

accomplished  by  the  union  of  both.      How  that 

union  was  effected,  I  will  endeavour  to  show 

you  in  my  next  lecture  ;  to-day  I  shall  take  note 

only  of  the  points  bearing  on   our  immediate 

practice. 


198  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

159.  A  certain  number  of  you,  by  faculty 
and  natural  disposition, — and  all,  so  far  as  you 
are  interested  in  modern  art, — will  necessarily 
have  to  put  yourselves  under  the  discipline 
of  the  Greek  or  chiaroscuro  school,  which  is 
directed  primarily  to  the  attainment  of  the 
power  of  representing  form  by  pure  contrast  of 
light  and  shade.  I  say,  the  '  discipline  '  of  the 
Greek  school,  both  because,  followed  faithfully, 
it  is  indeed  a  severe  one,  and  because  to  follow 
it  at  all  is,  for  persons  fond  of  colour,  often  a 
course  of  painful  self-denial,  from  which  young 
students  are  eager  to  escape.  And  yet,  when 
the  laws  of  both  schools  are  rightly  obeyed, 
the  most  perfect  discipline  is  that  of  the  colour- 
ists  ;  for  they  see  and  draw  everything,  while 
the  chiaroscurists  must  leave  much  indeter- 
minate in  mystery,  or  invisible  in  gloom  :  and 
there  are  therefore  many  licentious  and  vulgar 
forms  of  art  connected  with  the  chiaroscuro 
school,  both  in  painting  and  etching,  which 
have  no  parallel  among  the  colourists.  But 
both  schools,  rightly  followed,  require  first  of 
all  absolute  accuracy  of  delineation.  This  you 
need  not  hope  to  escape.  Whether  you  fill 
your  spaces  with  colours,  or  with  shadows,  they 


VI.    LIGHT.  199 

must  equally  be  of  the  true  outline  and  in  true 
gradations.  I  have  been  thirty  years  telling 
modern  students  of  art  this  in  vain.  I  mean 
to  say  it  to  you  only  once,  for  the  statement  is 
too  important  to  be  weakened  by  repetition. 

Without  perfect  delineation  of  form  and 
perfect  gradation  of  space,  neither  noble 
colour  is  possible,  nor  noble  light. 

160.  It  may  make  this  more  believable  to  you 
if  I  put  beside  each  other  a  piece  of  detail  from 
each  school.  I  gave  you  the  St.  John  of  Cima 
da  Conegliano  for  a  type  of  the  colour  school. 
Here  is  my  own  study  of  the  sprays  of  oak 
which  rise  against  the  sky  of  it  in  the  distance, 
enlarged  to  about  its  real  size  (Edu.  12).  I 
hope  to  draw  it  better  for  you  at  Venice ;  but 
this  will  show  you  with  what  perfect  care  the 
colourist  has  followed  the  outline  of  every  leaf 
in  the  sky.  Beside,  I  put  a  chiaroscurist  draw- 
ing (at  least,  a  photograph  of  one),  Diirer's, 
from  nature,  of  the  common  wild  wall-cabbage 
(Edu.  32).  It  is  the  most  perfect  piece  of 
delineation  by  flat  tint  I  have  ever  seen,  in  its 
mastery  of  the  perspective  of  every  leaf,  and 
its  attainment  almost  of  the  bloom  of  texture, 
merely  by  its  exquisitely  tender  and  decisive 


200  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

laying  of  the  colour.  These  two  examples 
ought,  I  think,  to  satisfy  you  as  to  the  precision 
of  outline  of  both  schools,  and  the  power  of 
expression  which  may  be  obtained  by  flat  tints 
laid  within  such  outline. 

161.   Next,  here  are  two  examples  of  the  gra- 
dated shading  expressive  of  the  forms  within 
the  outline,  by  two  masters  of  the  chiaroscuro 
school.     The  first  (S.  1 2)  shows  you  Lionardo's 
method  of  work,  both  with  chalk  and  the  silver 
point.     The  second    (S.    302),   Turner's  work 
in  mezzotint;  both   masters  doing  their   best. 
Observe  that  this  plate  of  Turner's,  which  he 
worked  on  so  long  that  it  was  never  published, 
is  of  a  subject  peculiarly  depending  on  effects 
of  mystery  and  concealment,  the  fall  of  the  Reuss 
under  the  Devil's  Bridge  on  the  St.  Gothard  ; 
(the  old  bridge ;  you  may  still  see  it  under  the 
existing  one,  which  was  built  since   Turner's 
drawing  was  made).      If  ever  outline  could  be 
dispensed  with,  you  would  think  it  might  be  so 
in  this  confusion  of  cloud,  foam,  and  darkness. 
But  here  is  Turner's  own  etching  on  the  plate 
(Edu.  35F),  made  under  the  mezzotint  ;  and  of 
all  the  studies  of  rock  outline  made  by  his  hand, 
it  is  the  most  decisive  and   quietly   complete. 


VI.    LIGHT.  20 1 

162.  Again  ;  in  the  Lionardo  sketches,  many 
parts  are  lost  in  obscurity,  or  are  left  intention- 
ally uncertain  and  mysterious,  even  in  the  light 
and  you  might  at  first  imagine  some  permission 
of  escape  had  been  here  given  you  from  the 
terrible  law  of  delineation.  But  the  slightest 
attempts  to  copy  them  will  show  you  that  the 
terminal  lines  are  inimitably  subtle,  unaccusably 
true,  and  filled  by  gradations  of  shade  so  deter- 
mined and  measured  that  the  addition  of  a  grain 
of  the  lead  or  chalk  as  large  as  the  filament  of 
a  moth's  wing,  would  make  an  appreciable  differ- 
ence in  them. 

This  is  grievous,  you  think,  and  hopeless  ? 
No,  it  is  delightful  and  full  of  hope  :  delightful, 
to  see  what  marvellous  things  can  be  done  by 
men  ;  and  full  of  hope,  if  your  hope  is  the  right 
one,  of  being  one  day  able  to  rejoice  more  in 
what  others  have  done,  than  in  what  you  can 
yourself  do,  and  more  in  the  strength  that  is 
for  ever  above  you,  than  in  that  you  can  ever 
attain. 

163.  But  you  can  attain  much,  if  you  will 
work  reverently  and  patiently,  and  hope  for  no 
success  through  ill-regulated  effort.  It  is,  how- 
ever, most  assuredly  at  this  point  of  your  study 


202  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

that  the  full  strain  on  your  patience  will  begin. 
The  exercises  in  line-drawing  and  flat  laying 
of  colour  are  irksome ;   but   they  are  definite, 
and  within  certain  limits,  sure  to  be  successful 
if  practised  with  moderate  care.    But  the  expres- 
sion of  form  by  shadow  requires  more  subtle 
patience,  and  involves  the  necessity  of  frequent 
and  mortifying  failure,  not  to  speak  of  the  self- 
denial  which  I  said  was  needful  in  persons  fond 
of  colour,  to  draw  in  mere  light  and  shade.      If, 
indeed,  you  were  going  to  be  artists,  or  could 
give  any  great  length  of  time  to  study,  it  might 
be  possible  for  you  to  learn  wholly  in  the  Vene- 
tian school,  and  to  reach  form  through  colour. 
But  without  the  most  intense  application  this  is 
not  possible  ;  and  practically,  it  will  be  neces- 
sary for  you,  as  soon  as  you  have  gained  the 
power  of  outlining  accurately,  and  of  laying  flat 
colour,  to  learn  to  express  solid  form  as  shown 
by  light  and   shade  only.     And   there  is   this 
great  advantage  in  doing  so,  that  many  forms 
are  more  or  less  disguised  by  colour,  and  that  we 
can  only  represent  them  completely  to  others, 
or  rapidly  and  easily  record  them  for  ourselves, 
by  the  use  of  shade  alone.     A  single  instance 
will  show  you  what  I  mean.     Perhaps  there  are 


VI.    LIGHT.  203 

few  flowers  of  which  the  impression  on  the 
eye  is  more  definitely  of  flat  colour,  than  the 
scarlet  geranium.  But  you  would  find,  if  you 
were  to  try  to  paint  it, — first,  that  no  pigment 
could  approach  the  beauty  of  its  scarlet ;  and 
secondly,  that  the  brightness  of  the  hue  dazzled 
the  eye,  and  prevented  its  following  the  real 
arrangement  of  the  cluster  of  flowers.  I  have 
drawn  for  you  here  (at  least  this  is  a  mezzotint 
from  my  drawing),  a  single  cluster  of  the  scarlet 
geranium,  in  mere  light  and  shade  (Edu.  32  B.), 
and  I  think  you  will  feel  that  its  domed  form, 
and  the  flat  lying  of  the  petals  one  over  the 
other,  in  the  vaulted  roof  of  it,  can  be  seen 
better  thus  than  if  they  had  been  painted 
scarlet. 

164.  Also  this  study  will  be  useful  to  you, 
in  showing  how  entirely  effects  of  light  depend 
on  delineation,  and  gradation  of  spaces,  and 
not  on  methods  of  shading.  And  this  is  the 
second  great  practical  matter  I  want  you  to 
remember  to-day.  All  effects  of  light  and  shade 
depend  not  on  the  method  or  execution  of 
shadows,  but  on  their  Tightness  of  place,  form, 
and  depth.  There  is  indeed  a  loveliness  of 
execution  added  to  the  rightness,  by  the  great 


204  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

masters,  but  you  cannot  obtain  that  unless  you 
become  one  of  them.  Shadow  cannot  be  laid 
thoroughly  well,  any  more  than  lines  can  be 
drawn  steadily,  but  by  a  long  practised  hand, 
and  the  attempts  to  imitate  the  shading  of  fine 
draughtsmen,  by  dotting  and  hatching,  are  just 
as  ridiculous  as  it  would  be  to  endeavour  to 
imitate  their  instantaneous  lines  by  a  series 
of  re-touchings.  You  will  often  indeed  see 
in  Leonardo's  work,  and  in  Michael  Angelo's, 
shadow  wrought  laboriously  to  an  extreme  of 
fineness ;  but  when  you  look  into  it,  you  will  find 
that  they  have  always  been  drawing  more  and 
more  form  within  the  space,  and  never  finish- 
ing for  the  sake  of  added  texture,  but  of  added 
fact.  And  all  those  effects  of  transparency  and 
reflected  light,  aimed  at  in  common  chalk  draw- 
ings, are  wholly  spurious.  For  since,  as  I  told 
you,  all  lights  are  shades  compared  to  higher 
lights,  and  lights  only  as  compared  to  lower 
ones,  it  follows  that  there  can  be  no  difference 
in  their  quality  as  such ;  but  that  light  is  opaque 
when  it  expresses  substance,  and  transparent 
when  it  expresses  space ;  and  shade  is  also 
opaque  when  it  expresses  substance,  and  trans- 
parent when  it  expresses  space.     But  it  is  not, 


VI.    LIGHT.  205 

even  then,  transparent  in  the  common  sense  of 
that  word ;  nor  is  its  appearance  to  be  obtained 
by  dotting  or  cross  hatching,  but  by  touches  so 
tender  as  to  look  like  mist.  And  now  we  find 
the  use  of  having  Lionardo  for  our  guide.  He 
is  supreme  in  all  questions  of  execution,  and  in 
his  28th  chapter,  you  will  find  that  shadows 
are  to  be  'dolce  e  sfumose,'  to  be  tender,  and 
look  as  if  they  were  exhaled,  or  breathed  on  the 
paper.  Then,  look  at  any  of  Michael  Angelo's 
finished  drawings,  or  of  Correggio's  sketches, 
and  you  will  see  that  the  true  nurse  of  light 
is  in  art,  as  in  nature,  the  cloud ;  a  misty  and 
tender  darkness,  made  lovely  by  gradation. 

165.  And  how  absolutely  independent  it  is 
of  material  or  method  of  production,  how  ab- 
solutely dependent  on  Tightness  of  place  and 
depth, — there  are  now  before  you  instances 
enough  to  prove.  Here  is  Diirer's  work  in  flat 
colour,  represented  by  the  photograph  in  its 
smoky  brown  ;  Turner's,  in  washed  sepia,  and 
in  mezzotint ;  Lionardo' s,  in  pencil  and  in  chalk; 
on  the  screen  in  front  of  you  a  large  study  in 
charcoal.  In  every  one  of  these  drawings,  the 
material  of  shadow  is  absolutely  opaque.  But 
photograph-stain,  chalk,  lead,  ink,  or  charcoal, — 


206  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

every  one  of  them,  laid  by  the  master's  hand, 
becomes  full  of  light  by  gradation  only.  Here 
is  a  moonlight  (Edu.  31  B.),  in  which  you 
would  think  the  moon  shone  through  every 
cloud  ;  yet  the  clouds  are  mere  single  dashes 
of  sepia,  imitated  by  the  brown  stain  of  a  photo- 
graph ;  similarly,  in  these  plates  from  the  Liber 
Studiorum  the  white  paper  becomes  transparent 
or  opaque,  exactly  as  the  master  chooses.  Here, 
on  the  granite  rock  of  the  St.  Gothard  (S.  302), 
in  white  paper  made  opaque,  every  light  re- 
presents solid  bosses  of  rock,  or  balls  of  foam. 
But  in  this  study  of  twilight  (S.  303),  the  same 
white  paper  (coarse  old  stuff  it  is,  too  !)  is  made 
as  transparent  as  crystal,  and  every  fragment 
of  it  represents  clear  and  far  away  light  in  the 
sky  of  evening  in  Italy. 

From  all  which  the  practical  conclusion  for 
you  is,  that  you  are  never  to  trouble  yourselves 
with  any  questions  as  to  the  means  of  shade 
or  light,  but  only  with  the  right  government 
of  the  means  at  your  disposal.  And  it  is  a 
most  grave  error  in  the  system  of  many  of  our 
public  drawing-schools,  that  the  students  are 
permitted  to  spend  weeks  of  labour  in  giving 
attractive  appearance,  by  delicacy  of  texture,  to 


VI.    LIGHT.  207 

chiaroscuro  drawings  in  which  every  form  is 
false,  and  every  relation  of  depth,  untrue.  A 
most  unhappy  form  of  error  ;  for  it  not  only 
delays,  and  often  wholly  arrests,  their  advance 
in  their  own  art ;  but  it  prevents  what  ought 
to  take  place  correlatively  with  their  executive 
practice,  the  formation  of  their  taste  by  the 
accurate  study  of  the  models  from  which  they 
draw.  And  I  must  so  far  anticipate  what  we 
shall  discover  when  we  come  to  the  subject  of 
sculpture,  as  to  tell  you  the  two  main  principles 
of  good  sculpture  ;  first,  that  its  masters  think 
before  all  other  matters  of  the  right  placing  of 
masses  ;  secondly,  that  they  give  life  by  flexure 
of  surface,  not  by  quantity  of  detail ;  for  sculp- 
ture is  indeed  only  light  and  shade  drawing  in 
stone. 

166.  Much  that  I  have  endeavoured  to  teach 
on  this  subject  has  been  gravely  misunderstood, 
by  both  young  painters  and  sculptors,  especially 
by  the  latter.  Because  I  am  always  urging  them 
to  imitate  organic  forms,  they  think  if  they  carve 
quantities  of  flowers  and  leaves,  and  copy  them 
from  the  life,  they  have  done  all  that  is  needed. 
But  the  difficulty  is  not  to  carve  quantities  of 
leaves.     Anybody  can  do  that.     The  difficulty 


208  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

is,  never  anywhere  to  have  an  unnecessary 
leaf.  Over  the  arch  on  the  right,  you  see  there  is 
a  cluster  of  seven,  with  their  short  stalks  spring- 
ing from  a  thick  stem.  Now,  you  could  not  turn 
one  of  those  leaves  a  hair's-breadth  Out  of  its 
place,  nor  thicken  one  of  their  stems,  nor  alter 
the  angle  at  which  each  slips  over  the  next  one, 
without  spoiling  the  whole  as  much  as  you  would 
a  piece  of  melody  by  missing  a  note.  That  is 
disposition  of  masses.  Again,  in  the  group  on 
the  left,  while  the  placing  of  every  leaf  is  just 
as  skilful,  they  are  made  more  interesting  yet 
by  the  lovely  undulation  of  their  surfaces,  so 
that  not  one  of  them  is  in  equal  light  with 
another.  And  that  is  so  in  all  good  sculpture, 
without  exception.  From  the  Elgin  marbles 
down  to  the  lightest  tendril  that  curls  round  a 
capital  in  the  thirteenth  century,  every  piece  of 
stone  that  has  been  touched  by  the  hand  of 
a  master,  becomes  soft  with  under-life,  not 
resembling  nature  merely  in  skin-texture,  nor 
in  fibres  of  leaf,  or  veins  of  flesh  ;  but  in  the 
broad,  tender,  unspeakably  subtle  undulation 
of  its  organic  form. 

167.  Returning  then  to  the  question  of  our 
own  practice,  I  believe  that  all  difficulties  in 


VI.    LIGHT.  209 

method  will  vanish,  it  only  you  cultivate  with 
care  enough  the  habit  of  accurate  observation, 
and  if  you  think  only  of  making  your  light  and 
shade  true,  whether  it  be  delicate  or  not.  But 
there  are  three  divisions  or  degrees  of  truth  to  be 
sought  for,  in  light  and  shade,  by  three  several 
modes  of  study,  which  I  must  ask  you  to  dis- 
tinguish carefully. 

I.  When  objects  are  lighted  by  the  direct  rays 
of  the  sun,  or  by  direct  light  entering  from  a 
window,  one  side  of  them  is  of  course  in  light, 
the  other  in  shade,  and  the  forms  in  the  mass 
are  exhibited  systematically  by  the  force  of  the 
rays  falling  on  it ;  (those  having  most  power 
of  illumination  which  strike  most  vertically ;) 
and  note  that  there  is,  therefore,  to  every  solid 
curvature  of  surface,  a  necessarily  proportioned 
gradation  of  light,  the  gradation  on  a  parabolic 
solid  being  different  from  the  gradation  on  an 
elliptical  or  spherical  one.  Now,  when  your 
purpose  is  to  represent  and  learn  the  anatomy, 
or  otherwise  characteristic  forms,  of  any  object, 
it  is  best  to  place  it  in  this  kind  of  direct  light, 
and  to  draw  it  as  it  is  seen  when  we  look  at  it 
in  a  direction  at  right  angles  to  that  of  the  ray. 
This  is  the  ordinary  academical  way  of  studying 

14 


210  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

form.  Lionardo  seldom  practises  any  other  in 
his  real  work,  though  he  directs  many  others  in 
his  treatise. 

1 68.  The  great  importance  of  anatomical 
knowledge  to  the  painters  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury rendered  this  method  of  study  very  frequent 
with  them ;  it  almost  wholly  regulated  their 
schools  of  engraving,  and  has  been  the  most 
frequent  system  of  drawing  in  art-schools  since 
(to  the  very  inexpedient  exclusion  of  others). 
When  you  study  objects  in  this  way, — and  it 
will  indeed  be  well  to  do  so  often,  though  not 
exclusively, — observe  always  one  main  principle. 
Divide  the  light  from  the  darkness  frankly  at 
first:  all  over  the  subject  let  there  be  no  doubt 
which  is  which.  Separate  them  one  from  the 
other  as  they  are  separated  in  the  moon,  or  on 
the  world  itself,  in  day  and  night.  Then  gradate 
/our  lights  with  the  utmost  subtilty  possible  to 
you  ;  but  let  your  shadows  alone,  until  near  the 
termination  of  the  drawing  :  then  put  quickly 
into  them  what  farther  energy  they  need,  thus 
gaining  the  reflected  lights  out  of  their  original 
flat  gloom ;  but  generally  not  looking  much  for 
reflected  lights.  Nearly  all  young  students 
(and  too  many  advanced  masters)  exaggerate 


VI.    LIGHT.  2  I  I 

them.  It  is  good  to  see  a  drawing  come  out  of 
its  ground  like  a  vision  of  light  only ;  the  sha- 
dows lost,  or  disregarded  in  the  vague  of  space. 
In  vulgar  chiaroscuro  the  shades  are  so  full  of 
reflection  that  they  look  as  if  some  one  had  been 
walking  round  the  object  with  a  candle,  and  the 
student,  by  that  help,  peering  into  its  crannies. 
169.  II.  But,  in  the  reality  of  nature,  very 
few  objects  are  seen  in  this  accurately  lateral 
manner,  or  lighted  by  unconfused  direct  rays. 
Some  are  all  in  shadow,  some  all  in  light,  some 
near,  and  vigorously  defined  ;  others  dim  and 
faint  in  aerial  distance.  The  study  of  these 
various  effects  and  forces  of  light,  which  we  may 
call  aerial  chiaroscuro,  is  a  far  more  subtle  one 
than  that  of  the  rays  exhibiting  organic  form 
(which  for  distinction's  sake  we  may  call  'formal' 
chiaroscuro),  since  the  degrees  of  light  from  the 
sun  itself  to  the  blackness  of  night,  are  far 
beyond  any  literal  imitation.  In  order  to  pro- 
duce a  mental  impression  of  the  facts,  two 
distinct  methods  may  be  followed  : — the  first,  to 
shade  downwards  from  the  lights,  making  every- 
thing darker  in  due  proportion,  until  the  scale 
of  our  power  being  ended,  the  mass  of  the  pic- 
ture is  lost  in  shade.     The  second,  to  assume  the 


2  12  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

points  of  extreme  darkness  for  a  basis,  and  to 
light  everything  above  these  in  due  proportion, 
till  the  mass  of  the  picture  is  lost  in  light. 

170.  Thus,  in  Turner's  sepia  drawing  '  Isis  ' 
(Edu.  31),  he  begins  with  the  extreme  light  in 
the  sky,  and  shades  down  from  that  till  he  is 
forced  to  represent  the  near  trees  and  pool  as 
one  mass  of  blackness.  In  his  drawing  of  the 
Greta  (S.  2),  he  begins  with  the  dark  brown 
shadow  of  the  bank  on  the  left,  and  illuminates 
up  from  that,  till,  in  his  distance,  trees,  hills, 
sky,  and  clouds,  are  all  lost  in  broad  light,  so 
that  you  can  hardly  see  the  distinction  between 
hills  and  sky.  The  second  of  these  methods 
is  in  general  the  best  for  colour,  though  great 
painters  unite  both  in  their  practice,  according 
to  the  character  of  their  subject.  The  first 
method  is  never  pursued  in  colour  but  by  in- 
ferior painters.  It  is,  nevertheless,  of  great 
importance  to  make  studies  of  chiaroscuro  in 
this  first  manner  for  some  time,  as  a  prepara- 
tion for  colouring  ;  and  this  for  many  reasons, 
which  it  would  take  too  long  to  state  now.  I 
shall  expect  you  to  have  confidence  in  me  when 
I  assure  you  of  the  necessity  of  this  study,  and 
ask  you  to  make  good  use  of  the  examples  from 


VI.    LIGHT.  213 

the  Liber  Studiorum  which  I   have  placed  in 
your  Educational  series. 

171.  III.  Whether  in  formal  or  aerial  chiaro- 
scuro, it  is  optional  with  the  student  to  make 
the  local  colour  of  objects  a  part  of  his  shadow, 
or  to  consider  the  high  lights  of  every  colour 
as  white.  For  instance,  a  chiaroscurist  of  Leon- 
ardo's school,  drawing  a  leopard,  would  take  no 
notice  whatever  of  the  spots,  but  only  give  the 
shadows  which  expressed  the  anatomy.  And 
it  is  indeed  necessary  to  be  able  to  do.  this,  and 
to  make  drawings  of  the  forms  of  things  as  if 
they  were  sculptured,  and  had  no  colour.  But 
in  general,  and  more  especially  in  the  practice 
which  is  to  guide  you  to  colour,  it  is  better  to 
regard  the  local  colour  as  part  of  the  general 
dark  and  light  to  be  imitated ;  and,  as  I  told 
you  at  first,  to  consider  all  nature  merely  as  a 
mosaic  of  different  colours,  to  be  imitated  one 
by  one  in  simplicity.  But  good  artists  vary 
their  methods  according  to  their  subject  and 
material.  In  general,  Diirer  takes  little  account 
of  local  colour  ;  but  in  woodcuts  of  armorial 
bearings  (one  with  peacock's  feathers  I  shall 
get  for  you  some  day)  takes  great  delight  in 
it ;  while  one  of  the  chief  merits  of  Bewick  is 


214  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

the  ease  and  vigour  with  which  he  uses  his 
black  and  white  for  the  colours  of  plumes.  Also, 
every  great  artist  looks  for,  and  expresses,  that 
character  of  his  subject  which  is  best  to  be 
rendered  by  the  instrument  in  his  hand,  and  the 
material  he  works  on.  Give  Velasquez  or  Vero- 
nese a  leopard  to  paint,  the  first  thing  they  think 
of  will  be  its  spots  ;  give  it  to  Durer  to  engrave, 
and  he  will  set  himself  at  the  fur  and  whiskers ; 
give  it  a  Greek  to  carve,  and  he  will  only  think 
of  its  jaws  and  limbs  ;  each  doing  what  is  abso- 
lutely best  with  the  means  at  his  disposal. 

172.  The  details  of  practice  in  these  various 
methods  I  will  endeavour  to  explain  to  you  by 
distinct  examples  in  your  Educational  series,  as 
we  proceed  in  our  work  ;  for  the  present,  let  me, 
in  closing,  recommend  to  you  once  more  with 
great  earnestness  the  patient  endeavour  to  ren- 
der the  chiaroscuro  of  landscape  in  the  manner 
of  the  Liber  Studiorum  ;  and  this  the  rather, 
because  you  might  easily  suppose  that  the  facil- 
ity of  obtaining  photographs  which  render  such 
effects,  as  it  seems,  with  absolute  truth  and  with 
unapproachable  subtilty,  superseded  the  neces- 
sity of  study,  and  the  use  of  sketching.  Let  me 
assure  you,  once  for  all,  that  photographs  super- 


VI.    LIGHT.  215 

sede  no  single  quality  nor  use  of  fine  art,  and 
have  so  much  in  common  with  Nature,  that  they 
even  share  her  temper  of  parsimony,  and  will 
themselves  give  you  nothing  valuable  that  you 
do  not  work  for.  They  supersede  no  good  art, 
for  the  definition  of  art  is  '  human  labour  regu- 
lated by  human  design/  and  this  design,  or 
evidence  of  active  intellect  in  choice  and  arrange- 
ment, is  the  essential  part  of  the  work  ;  which 
so  long  as  you  cannot  perceive,  you  perceive  no 
art  whatsoever ;  which  when  once  you  do  per- 
ceive, you  will  perceive  also  to  be  replaceable 
by  no  mechanism.  But,  farther,  photographs 
will  give  you  nothing  you  do  not  work  for.  They 
are  invaluable  for  record  of  some  kinds  of  facts, 
and  for  giving  transcripts  of  drawings  by  great 
masters  ;  but  neither  in  the  photographed  scene, 
nor  photographed  drawing,  will  you  see  any  true 
good,  more  than  in  the  things  themselves,  until 
you  have  given  the  appointed  price  in  your  own 
attention  and  toil.  And  when  once  you  have 
paid  this  price,  you  will  not  care  for  photographs 
of  landscape.  They  are  not  true,  though  they 
seem  so.  They  are  merely  spoiled  nature.  If 
it  is  not  human  design  you  are  looking  for,  there 
is  more  beauty  in  the  next  wayside  bank  than  in 


2l6  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

all  the  sun-blackened  paper  you  could  collect  in 
a  lifetime.  Go  and  look  at  the  real  landscape, 
and  take  care  of  it ;  do  not  think  you  can  get 
the  good  of  it  in  a  black  stain  portable  in  a  folio. 
But  if  you  care  for  human  thought  and  passion, 
then  learn  yourselves  to  watch  the  course  and 
fall  of  the  light  by  whose  influence  you  live,  and 
to  share  in  the  joy  of  human  spirits  in  the 
heavenly  gifts  of  sunbeam  and  shade.  For  I 
tell  you  truly,  that  to  a  quiet  heart,  and  healthy 
brain,  and  industrious  hand,  there  is  more  de- 
light, and  use,  in  the  dappling  of  one  wood-glade 
with  flowers  and  sunshine,  than  to  the  restless, 
heartless,  and  idle  could  be  brought  by  a  pano- 
rama of  a  belt  of  the  world,  photographed  round 
the  equator. 


LECTURE  VII. 

COLOUR. 

173..  To-day  I  must  try  to  complete  our  elemen- 
tary sketch  of  schools  of  art,  by  tracing  the 
course  of  those  which  were  distinguished  by 
faculty  of  colour,  and  afterwards  to  deduce  from 
the  entire  scheme  advisable  methods  of  imme- 
diate practice. 

You  remember  that,  for  the  type  of  the  early 
schools  of  colour,  I  chose  their  work  in  glass ; 
as  for  that  of  the  early  schools  of  chiaroscuro, 
I  chose  their  work  in  clay. 

I  had  two  reasons  for  this.  First,  that  the 
peculiar  skill  of  colourists  is  seen  most  intel- 
ligibly in  their  work  in  glass  or  in  enamel ; 
secondly,  that  Nature  herself  produces  all  her 
loveliest  colours  in  some  kind  of  solid  or  liquid 
glass  or  crystal.  The  rainbow  is  painted  on  a 
shower  of  melted  glass,  and  the  colours  of  the 
opal  are  produced  in  vitreous  flint  mixed  with 
water  ;  the  green  and  blue,  and  golden  or  amber 


2l8  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

brown  of  flowing  water  is  in  surface  glassy,  and 
in  motion  '  splendidior  vitro.'  And  the  loveliest 
colours  ever  granted  to  human  sight — those  of 
morning  and  evening  clouds  before  or  after  rain 
— are  produced  on  minute  particles  of  finely- 
divided  water,  or  perhaps  sometimes  ice.  But 
more  than  this.  If  you  examine  with  a  lens  some 
of  the  richest  colours  of  flowers,  as,  for  instance, 
those  of  the  gentian  and  dianthus,  you  will  find 
their  texture  is  produced  by  a  crystalline  or 
sugary  frost-work  upon  them.  In  the  lychnis 
of  the  high  Alps,  the  red  and  white  have  a  kind 
of  sugary  bloom,  as  rich  as  it  is  delicate.  It  is 
indescribable  ;  but  if  you  can  fancy  very  powdery 
and  crystalline  snow  mixed  with  the  softest 
cream,  and  then  dashed  with  carmine,  it  may 
give  you  some  idea  of  the  look  of  it.  There  are 
no  colours,  either  in  the  nacre  of  shells,  or  the 
plumes  of  birds  and  insects,  which  are  so  pure 
as  those  of  clouds,  opal,  or  flowers  ;  but  the  force 
of  purple  and  blue  in  some  butterflies,  and  the 
methods  of  clouding,  and  strength  of  burnished 
lustre,  in  plumage  like  the  peacock's,  give  them 
more  universal  interest  ;  in  some  birds,  also,  as 
in  our  own  kingfisher,  the  colour  nearly  reaches 
a    floral    preciousness.       The  lustre    in    most, 


VII.    COLOUR.  219 

however, is  metallic  rather  than  vitreous;  and  the 
vitreous  always  gives  the  purest  hue.  Entirely 
common  and  vulgar  compared  with  these,  yet 
to  be  noticed  as  completing  the  crystalline  or 
vitreous  system,  we  have  the  colours  of  gems. 
The  green  of  the  emerald  is  the  best  of  these ; 
but  at  its  best  is  as  vulgar  as  house-painting 
beside  the  green  of  birds'  plumage  or  of  clear 
water.  No  diamond  shows  colour  so  pure  as  a 
dewdrop  ;  the  ruby  is  like  the  pink  of  an  ill-dyed 
and  half-washed-out  print,  compared  to  the  dian- 
thus ;  and  the  carbuncle  is  usually  quite  dead 
unless  set  with  a  foil,  and  even  then  is  not 
prettier  than  the  seed  of  a  pomegranate.  The 
opal  is,  however,  an  exception.  When  pure  and 
uncut  in  its  native  rock,  it  presents  the  most 
lovely  colours  that  can  be  seen  in  the  world, 
except  those  of  clouds. 

We  have  thus  in  nature,  chiefly  obtained  by 
crystalline  conditions,  a  series  of  groups  of  en- 
tirely delicious  hues ;  and  it  is  one  of  the  best 
signs  that  the  bodily  system  is  in  a  healthy  state 
when  we  can  see  these  clearly  in  their  most 
delicate  tints,  and  enjoy  them  fully  and  simply, 
with  the  kind  of  enjoyment  that  children  have 
in  eating  sweet  things. 


220  LECTURES   ON    ART. 

174.  Now,  the  course  of  our  main  colour 
schools  is  briefly  this  : — First  we  have,  return- 
ing to  our  hexagonal  scheme,  line ;  then  spaces 
filled  with  pure  colour;  and  then  masses  ex- 
pressed or  rounded  with  pure  colour.  And 
during  these  two  stages  the  masters  of  colour 
delight  in  the  purest  tints,  and  endeavour  as  far 
as  possible  to  rival  those  of  opals  and  flowers. 
In  saying  '  the  purest  tints,'  I  do  not  mean  the 
simplest  types  of  red,  blue,  and  yellow,  but  the 
most  pure  tints  obtainable  by  their  combina- 
tions. 

175.  You  remember  I    told  you,  when    the 
colourists  painted  masses  or  projecting  spaces, 
they,  aiming  always  at  colour,  perceived  from 
the   first  and  held   to    the    last    the    fact    that 
shadows,    though   of  course   darker   than    the 
lights  with  reference  to  which  they  are  shadows 
are  not  therefore  necessarily  less  vigorous  col- 
ours,   but    perhaps    more   vigorous.     Some  of 
the  most  beautiful  blues  and  purples  in  nature, 
for  instance,  are  those  of  mountains  in  shadow 
against  amber  sky  ;  and  the  darkness  of  the  hol- 
low in  the  centre  of  a  wild  rose  is  one  glow  of 
orange  fire,  owing  to  the  quantity  of  its  yellow 
stamens.     Well,  the  Venetians  always  saw  this, 


VII.    COLOUR.  221 

and  all  great  colourists  see  it,  and  are  thus  sepa- 
rated from  the  non-colourists  or  schools  of  mere 
chiaroscuro,  not  by  difference  in  style  merely, 
but  by  being  right  while  the  others  are  wrong. 
It  is  an  absolute  fact  that  shadows  are  as  much 
colours  as  lights  are ;  and  whoever  represents 
them  by  merely  the  subdued  or  darkened  tint 
of  the  light,  represents  them  falsely.  I  parti- 
cularly want  you  to  observe  that  this  is  no 
matter  of  taste,  but  fact.  If  you  are  especially 
sober-minded,  you  may  indeed  choose  sober 
colours  where  Venetians  would  have  chosen  gay 
ones  ;  that  is  a  matter  of  taste  ;  you  may  think 
it  proper  for  a  hero  to  wear  a  dress  without 
patterns  on  it,  rather  than  an  embroidered  one ; 
that  is  similarly  a  matter  of  taste  :  but,  though 
you  may  also  think  it  would  be  dignified  for  a 
hero's  limbs  to  be  all  black,  or  brown,  on  the 
shaded  side  of  them,  yet,  if  you  are  using  col- 
our at  all,  you  cannot  so  have  him  to  your  mind, 
except  by  falsehood  ;  he  never,  under  any  cir- 
cumstances, could  be  entirely  black  or  brown 
on  one  side  of  him. 

176.  In  this,  then,  the  Venetians  are  separate 
from  other  schools  by  Tightness,  and  they  are 
so  to  their  last  days.     Venetian  painting  is  in 


222  LECTURES   ON    ART. 

this  matter  always  right.  But  also,  in  their 
early  days,  the  colourists  are  separated  from 
other  schools  by  their  contentment  with  tran- 
quil cheerfulness  of  light ;  by  their  never  want- 
ing to  be  dazzled.  None  of  their  lights  are 
flashing  or  blinding  ;  they  are  soft,  winning, 
precious  ;  lights  of  pearl,  not  of  lime  :  only,  you 
know,  on  this  condition  they  cannot  have  sun- 
shine :  their  day  is  the  day  of  Paradise ;  they 
need  no  candle,  neither  light  of  the  sun,  in  their 
cities  ;  and  everything  is  seen  clear,  as  through 
crystal,  far  or  near. 

This  holds  to  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  century. 
Then  they  begin  to  see  that  this,  beautiful  as  it 
may  be,  is  still  a  make-believe  light ;  that  we  do 
not  live  in  the  inside  of  a  pearl;  but  in  an 
atmosphere  through  which  a  burning  sun  shines 
thwartedly,  and  over  which  a  sorrowful  night 
must  far  prevail.  And  then  the  chiaroscurists 
succeed  in  persuading  them  of  the  fact  that  there 
is  a  mystery  in  the  day  as  in  the  night,  and 
show  them  how  constantly  to  see  truly,  is  to  see 
dimly.  And  also  they  teach  them  the  brilliancy 
of  light,  and  the  degree  in  which  it  is  raised 
from  the  darkness  ;  and  instead  of  their  sweet 
and  pearly  peace,  tempt  them  to  look  for  the 


VII.    COLOUR.  223 

strength  of  flame  and  coruscation  of  lightning, 
and  flash  of  sunshine  on  armour  and  on  points 
of  spears. 

177.  The  noble  painters  take  the  lesson 
nobly,  alike  for  gloom  or  flame.  Titian  with 
deliberate  strength,  Tintoret  with  stormy  pas- 
sion, read  it,  side  by  side.  Titian  deepens  the 
hues  of  his  Assumption,  as  of  his  Entombment, 
into  a  solemn  twilight ;  Tintoret  involves  his 
earth  in  coils  of  volcanic  cloud,  and  withdraws, 
through  circle  flaming  above  circle,  the  distant 
light  of  Paradise.  Both  of  them,  becoming 
naturalist  and  human,  add  the  veracity  of  Hol- 
bein's intense  portraiture  to  the  glow  and  dig- 
nity they  had  themselves  inherited  from  the 
Masters  of  Peace  :  at  the  same  moment  another, 
as  strong  as  they,  and  in  pure  felicity  of  art- 
faculty,  even  greater  than  they,  but  trained 
in  a  lower  school, — Velasquez, — produced  the 
miracles  of  colour  and  shadow-painting,  which 
made  Reynolds  say  of  him,  '  What  we  all  do 
with  labour,  he  does  with  ease  ; '  and  one  more, 
Correggio,  uniting  the  sensual  element  of  the 
Greek  schools  with  their  gloom,  and  their  light 
with  their  beauty,  and  all  these  with  the  Lom- 
bardic  colour,  became,  as  since  I  think  it  has 


224  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

been  admitted  without  question,  the  captain  of 
the  painter's  art  as  such.  Other  men  have 
nobler  or  more  numerous  gifts,  but  as  a  painter, 
master  of  the  art  of  laying  colour  so  as  to  be 
lovely,  Correggio  is  alone. 

178.  I  said  the  noble  men  learned  their  les- 
son nobly.  The  base  men  also,  and  necessarily, 
learn  it  basely.  The  great  men  rise  from  colour 
to  sunlight.  The  base  ones  fall  from  colour  to 
candlelight.  To-day,  '  non  ragioniam  di  lor,' 
but  let  us  see  what  this  great  change  which 
perfects  the  art  of  painting  mainly  consists  in, 
and  means.  For  though  we  are  only  at  present 
speaking  of  technical  matters,  every  one  of  them, 
I  can  scarcely  too  often  repeat,  is  the  outcome 
and  sign  of  a  mental  character,  and  you  can 
only  understand  the  folds  of  the  veil,  by  those 
of  the  form  it  veils. 

179.  The  complete  painters,  we  find,  have 
brought  dimness  and  mystery  into  their  method 
of  colouring.  That  means  that  the  world  all 
round  them  has  resolved  to  dream,  or  to  believe, 
no  more;  but  to  know,  and  to  see.  And  instantly 
all  knowledge  and  sight  are  given,  no  more 
as  in  the  Gothic  times,  through  a  window  of 
glass,  brightly,  but  as  through  a  telescope-glass, 


VII.    COLOUR.  225 

darkly.  Your  cathedral  window  shut  you 
from  the  true  sky,  and  illumined  you  with  a 
vision  ;  your  telescope  leads  you  to  the  sky,  but 
darkens  its  light,  and  reveals  nebula  beyond 
nebula,  far  and  farther,  and  to  no  conceivable 
farthest — unresolvable.  That  is  what  the  mys- 
tery means. 

180.  Next,  what  does  that  Greek  opposition 
of  black  and  white  mean  ? 

In  the  sweet  crystalline  time  of  colour,  the 
painters,  whether  on  glass  or  canvas,  employed 
intricate  patterns,  in  order  to  mingle  hues  beau- 
tifully with  each  other,  and  make  one  perfect 
melody  of  them  all.  But  in  the  great  naturalist 
school,  they  like  their  patterns  to  come  in  the 
Greek  way,  dashed  dark  on  light,— gleaming 
lisrht  out  of  dark.  That  means  also  that  the 
world  round  them  has  again  returned  to  the 
Greek  conviction,  that  all  nature,  especially 
human  nature,  is  not  entirely  melodious  nor 
luminous  ;  but  a  barred  and  broken  thing :  that 
saints  have  their  foibles,  sinners  their  forces  ; 
that  the  most  luminous  virtue  is  often  only  a 
flash,  and  the  blackest-looking  fault  is  sometimes 
only  a  stain  :  and,  without  confusing  in  the  least 
black   with    white,   they    can  forgive,   or  even 

15 


226  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

take  delight  in  things  that  are  like  the  vefipk, 
dappled. 

1 8 1.  You  have  then — first,  mystery.  Se- 
condly, opposition  of  dark  and  light.  Then, 
lastly,  whatever  truth  of  form  the  dark  and  light 
can  show. 

That  is  to  say,  truth  altogether,  and  resigna- 
tion to  it,  and  quiet  resolve  to  make  the  best  of 
it.  And  therefore  portraiture  of  living  men, 
women,  and  children, — no  more  of  saints, 
cherubs,  or  demons.  So  here  I  have  brought 
for  your  standards  of  perfect  art,  a  little  maiden 
of  the  Strozzi  family,  with  her  dog,  by  Titian  ; 
and  a  little  princess  of  the  house  of  Savoy, 
by  Vandyke  ;  and  Charles  the  Fifth,  by  Titian  ; 
and  a  queen,  by  Velasquez  ;  and  an  English 
girl  in  a  brocaded  gown,  by  Reynolds ;  and  an 
English  physician  in  his  plain  coat,  and  wig,  by 
Reynolds :  and  if  you  do  not  like  them,  I  can- 
not help  myself,  for  I  can  find  nothing  better 
for  you. 

182.  Better? — I  must  pause  at  the  word. 
Nothing  stronger,  certainly,  nor  so  strong.  No- 
thing so  wonderful,  so  inimitable,  so  keen  in 
unprejudiced  and  unbiassed  sight. 

Yet  better,  perhaps,  the  sight  that  was  guided 


VII.    COLOUR.  227 

by  a  sacred  will ;  the  power  that  could  be  taught 
to  weaker  hands ;  the  work  that  was  faultless, 
though  not  inimitable,  bright  with  felicity  of 
heart,  and  consummate  in  a  disciplined  and 
companionable  skill.  You  will  find,  when  I  can 
place  in  your  hands  the  notes  on  Verona,  which 
I  read  at  the  Royal  Institution,  that  I  have  ven- 
tured to  call  the  aera  of  painting  represented  by 
John  Bellini,  the  time  '  of  the  Masters.'  Truly 
they  deserved  the  name,  who  did  nothing  but 
what  was  lovely,  and  taught  only  what  was 
right.  These  mightier,  who  succeeded  them, 
crowned,  but  closed,  the  dynasties  of  art,  and 
since  their  day,  painting  has  never  flourished 
more. 

183.  There  were  many  reasons  for  this,  with- 
out fault  of  theirs.  They  were  exponents,  in 
the  first  place,  of  the  change  in  all  men's  minds 
from  civil  and  religious  to  merely  domestic  pas- 
sion ;  the  love  of  their  gods  and  their  country 
had  contracted  itself  now  into  that  of  their  do- 
mestic circle,  which  was  little  more  than  the 
halo  of  themselves.  You  will  see  the  reflection 
of  this  change  in  painting  at  once  by  comparing 
the  two  Madonnas  (S.  37,  John  Bellini's,  and 
Raphael's,    called    '  della   Seggiola ').     Bellini's 


228  LECTURES   ON    ART. 

Madonna  cares  for  all  creatures  through  her 
child  ;  Raphael's,  for  her  child  only. 

Again,  the  world  round  these  painters  had 
become  sad  and  proud,  instead  of  happy  and 
humble ; — its  domestic  peace  was  darkened  by 
irreligion,  its  national  action  fevered  by  pride. 
And  for  sign  of  its  Love,  the  Hymen,  whose  sta- 
tue this  fair  English  girl,  according  to  Reynolds' 
thought,  has  to  decorate  (S.  43),  is  blind,  and 
holds  a  coronet. 

Again,  in  the  splendid  power  of  realization, 
which  these  greatest  of  artists  had  reached,  there- 
was  the  latent  possibility  of  amusement  by  de- 
ception, and  of  excitement  by  sensualism.  And 
Dutch  trickeries  of  base  resemblance,  and  French 
fancies  of  insidious  beauty,  soon  occupied  the 
eyes  of  the  populace  of  Europe,  too  restless  and 
wretched  now  to  care  for  the  sweet  earth-berries 
and  Madonna's  ivy  of  Cima,  and  too  ignoble  to 
perceive  Titian's  colour,  or  Correggio's  shade. 

184.  Enough  sources  of  evil  were  here,  in  the 
temper  and  power  of  the  consummate  art.  In 
its  practical  methods  there  was  another,  the 
fatallest  of  all.  These  great  artists  brought  with 
them  mystery,  despondency,  domesticity,  sensu- 
ality :  of  all  these,  good  came,  as  well  as  eviL 


VII.    COLOUR.  229 

One  thing  more  they  brought,  of  which  nothing 
but  evil  ever  comes,  or  can  come — Liberty. 

By  the  discipline  of  five  hundred  years  they 
had  learned  and  inherited  such  power,  that 
whereas  all  former  painters  could  be  right  only 
by  effort,  they  could  be  right  with  ease  ;  and 
whereas  all  former  painters  could  be  right  only 
under  restraint,  they  could  be  right,  free.  Tin- 
toret's  touch,  Luini's,  Correggio's,  Reynolds', 
and  Velasquez's,  are  all  as  free  as  the  air,  and 
yet  right.  '  How  very  fine  ! '  said  everybody. 
Unquestionably,  very  fine.  Next,  said  every- 
body, '  What  a  grand  discovery  !  Here  is  the 
finest  work  ever  done,  and  it  is  quite  free.  Let 
us  all  be  free  then,  and  what  fine  things  shall 
we  not  do  also ! '  With  what  results  we  too 
well  know. 

Nevertheless,  remember  you  are  to  delight  in 
the  freedom  won  by  these  mighty  men  through 
obedience,  though  you  are  not  to  covet  it.  Obey, 
and  you  also  shall  be  free  in  time  ;  but  in  these 
minor  things,  as  well  as  in  great,  it  is  only  righ' 
service  which  is  perfect  freedom. 

185.  This,  broadly,  is  the  history  of  the  early 
and  late  colour-schools.  The  first  of  these  I 
shall  call  generally,  henceforward,  the  school  of 


230  LECTURES    ON   ART. 

crystal ;  the  other  that  of  clay  :  potter's  clay,  or 
human,  are' too  sorrowfully  the  same,  as  far  as 
art  is  concerned.  But  remember,  in  practice, 
you  cannot  follow  both  these  schools ;  you  must 
distinctly  adopt  the  principles  of  one  or  the  other 
I  will  put  the  means  of  following  either  within 
your  reach  ;  and  according  to  your  dispositions 
you  will  choose  one  or  the  other :  all  I  have  to 
guard  you  against  is  the  mistake  of  thinking 
you  can  unite  the  two.  If  you  want  to  paint 
(even  in  the  most  distant  and  feeble  way)  in  the 
Greek  School,  the  school  of  Lionardo,  Correggio, 
and  Turner,  you  cannot  design  coloured  win- 
dows, nor  Angelican  paradises.  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  you  choose  to  live  in  the  peace  of  paradise, 
you  cannot  share  in  the  gloomy  triumphs  of  the 
earth. 

186.  And,  incidentally  note,  as  a  practical 
matter  of  immediate  importance,  that  painted 
windows  have  nothing  to  do  with  chiaroscuro.* 
The  virtue  of  glass  is  to  be  transparent  every- 
where. If  you  care  to  build  a  palace  of  jewels, 
painted  glass  is  richer  than  all  the  treasures  of 
Aladdin's  lamp  ;  but  if  you  like  pictures  better 

*  There  is  noble  chiaroscuro  in  the  variations  of  their 
colour,  but  not  as  representative  of  solid  form. 


VII.    COLOUR.  231 

than  jewels,  you  must  come  into  broad  daylight 
to  paint  them.  A  picture  in  coloured  glass  is 
one  of  the  most  vulgar  of  barbarisms,  and  only 
fit  to  be  ranked  with  the  gauze  transparencies 
and  chemical  illuminations  of  the  sensational 
stage. 

Also,  put  out  of  your  minds  at  once  all  ques- 
tion about  difficulty  of  getting  colour  ;  in  glass 
we  have  all  the  colours  that  are  wanted,  only 
we  do  not  know  either  how  to  choose,  or  how 
to  connect  them  ;  and  we  are  always  trying  to 
get  them  bright,  when  their  real  virtues  are  to 
be  deep,  mysterious,  and  subdued.  We  will 
have  a  thorough  study  of  painted  glass  soon  : 
meanwhile  I  merely  give  you  a  type  of  its  perfect 
style,  in  two  windows  from  Chalons-sur-Marne 
(S.  141). 

187.  But  for  my  own  part,  with  what  poor 
gift  and  skill  is  in  me,  I  belong  wholly  to  the 
chiaroscurist  school  ;  and  shall  teach  you  there- 
fore chiefly  that  which  I  am  best  able  to  teach  : 
and  the  rather,  that  it  is  only  in  this  school  that 
you  can  follow  out  the  study  either  of  natural 
history  or  landscape.  The  form  of  a  wild 
animal,  or  the  wrath  of  a  mountain  torrent, 
would  both  be  revolting  (or  in  a  certain  sense 


232  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

invisible)  to  the  calm  fantasy  of  a  painter  in 
the  schools  of  crystal.     He  must  lay  his  lion 
asleep  in  St.  Jerome's  study  beside  his  tame 
partridge  and  easy  slippers ;  lead  the  appeased 
river  by  alternate  azure  promontories,  and  re- 
strain its  courtly  little  streamlets  with  margins 
of  marble.     But,  on  the  other  hand,  your  studies 
of  mythology  and  literature  may  best  be  con- 
nected with  these  schools  of  purest  and  calmest 
imagination  ;  and  their  discipline  will  be  useful 
to  you  in  yet  another  direction,  and  that  a  very 
important  one.     It  will  teach  you  to  take  delight 
in  little  things,  and   develope  in  you   the  joy 
which  all  men  should  feel  in  purity  and  order, 
not  only  in  pictures  but  in  reality.     For,  indeed, 
the  best  art  of  this  school  of  fantasy  may  at 
last  be  in  reality,  and  the  chiaroscurists,  true  in 
ideal,  may  be  less  helpful  in  act.     We  cannot 
arrest  sunsets  nor  carve  mountains,  but  we  may 
turn  every  English  homestead,  if  we  choose,  into 
a  picture  by  Cima  or  John  Bellini,  which  shall  be 
'  no  counterfeit,  but  the  true  and  perfect  image 
of  life  indeed.' 

188.  For  the  present,  however,  and  yet  for 
some  little  time  during  your  progress,  you  will 
not  have  to  choose  your  school.     For  both,  as 


VII.    COLOUR.  233 

we  have  seen,  begin  in  delineation,  and  both 
proceed  by  filling  flat  spaces  with  an  even  tint. 
And  therefore  this  following  will  be  the  course  of 
work  for  you,  founded  on  all  that  we  have  seen. 

Having  learned  to  measure,  and  draw  a  pen 
line  with  some  steadiness  (the  geometrical  exer- 
cises for  this  purpose  being  properly  school,  not 
University  work),  you  shall  have  a  series  of 
studies  from  the  plants  which  are  of  chief  import- 
ance in  the  history  of  art ;  first  from  their  real 
forms,  and  then  from  the  conventional  and  her- 
aldic expressions  of  them  ;  then  we  will  take 
examples  of  the  filling  of  ornamental  forms  with 
flat  colour  in  Egyptian,  Greek,  and  Gothic  de- 
sign ;  and  then  we  will  advance  to  animal  forms 
treated  in  the  same  severe  way,  and  so  to  the 
patterns  and  colour  designs  on  animals  them- 
selves. And  when  we  are  sure  of  our  firmness 
of  hand  and  accuracy  of  eye,  we  will  go  on  into 
light  and  shade. 

189.  In  process  of  time,  this  series  of  exer- 
cises will,  I  hope,  be  sufficiently  complete  and 
systematic  to  show  its  purpose  at  a  glance.  But 
during  the  present  year,  I  shall  content  myself 
with  placing  a  few  examples  of  these  different 
kinds    of  practice    in    your   rooms   for   work, 


234  LECTURES    ON    ART. 

explaining  in  the  catalogue  the  position  they 
will  ultimately  occupy,  and  the  technical  points 
of  process  into  which  it  is  useless  to  enter  in 
a  general  lecture.  After  a  little  time  spent  in 
copying  these,  your  own  predilections  must 
determine  your  future  course  of  study  ;  only 
remember,  whatever  school  you  follow,  it  must 
be  only  to  learn  method,  not  to  imitate  result, 
and  to  acquaint  yourself  with  the  minds  of  other 
men,  but  not  to  adopt  them  as  your  own.  Be 
assured  that  no  good  can  come  of  our  work  but 
as  it  arises  simply  out  of  our  own  true  natures, 
and  the  necessities  of  the  time  around  us, 
though  in  many  respects  an  evil  one.  We  live 
in  an  age  of  base  conceit  and  baser  servility 
— an  age  whose  intellect  is  chiefly  formed  by 
pillage,  and  occupied  in  desecration  ;  one  day 
mimicking,  the  next  destroying,  the  works  of 
all  the  noble  persons  who  made  its  intellectual 
or  art  life  possible  to  it : — an  age  without  honest 
confidence  enough  in  itself  to  carve  a  cherry- 
stone with  an  original  fancy,  but  with  insolence 
enough  to  abolish  the  solar  system,  if  it  were 
allowed  to  meddle  with  it.*  In  the  midst  of  all 

*  Every  day  these  bitter  words  become  more  sorrow- 
fully true  (September,  18S7). 


VII.    COLOUR.  235 

this,  you  have  to  become  lowly  and  strong ;  to 
recognise  the  powers  of  others  and  to  fulfil  your 
own.  I  shall  try  to  bring  before  you  every  form 
of  ancient  art,  that  you  may  read  and  profit  by 
it,  not  imitate  it.  You  shall  draw  Egyptian 
kings  dressed  in  colours  like  the  rainbow,  and 
Doric  gods,  and  Runic  monsters,  and  Gothic 
monks — not  that  you  may  draw  like  Egyptians 
or  Norsemen,  nor  yield  yourselves  passively  to 
be  bound  by  the  devotion,  or  inspired  by  the 
passion  of  the  past,  but  that  you  may  know 
truly  what  other  men  have  felt  during  their  poor 
span  of  life ;  and  open  your  own  hearts  to  what 
the  heavens  and  earth  may  have  to  tell  you  in 
yours. 

190.  In  closing  this  first  course  of  lectures, 
I  have  one  word  more  to  say  respecting  the 
possible  consequence  of  the  introduction  of  art 
among  the  studies  of  the  University.  What 
art  may  do  for  scholarship,  I  have  no  right  to 
conjecture  ;  but  what  scholarship  may  do  for 
art,  I  may  in  all  modesty  tell  you.  Hitherto, 
great  artists,  though  always  gentlemen,  have 
yet  been  too  exclusively  craftsmen.  Art  has 
been  less  thoughtful  than  we  suppose ;  it  has 
taught    much,    but    erred    much,    also.     Many 


2  $6  LECTURES   ON    ART. 

of  the  greatest  pictures  are  enigmas;  others, 
beautiful  toys ;  others,  harmful  and  corrupting 
enchantments.  In  the  loveliest,  there  is  some- 
thing weak ;  in  the  greatest,  there  is  something 
guilty.  And  this,  gentlemen,  if  you  will,  is  the 
new  thing  that  may  come  to  pass, — that  the 
scholars  of  England  may  resolve  to  teach  also 
with  the  silent  power  of  the  arts ;  and  that 
some  among  you  may  so  learn  and  use  them, 
that  pictures  may  be  painted  which  shall  not  be 
enigmas  any  more,  but  open  teachings  of  what 
can  no  otherwise  be  so  well  shown ; — which 
shall  not  be  fevered  or  broken  visions  any  more, 
but  filled  with  the  indwelling  light  of  self- 
possessed  imagination  ; — which  shall  not  be 
stained  or  enfeebled  any  more  by  evil  passion, 
but  glorious  with  the  strength  and  chastity  of 
noble  human  love; — and  which  shall  no  more 
degrade  or  disguise  the  work  of  God  in  heaven, 
but  testify  of  Him  as  here  dwelling  with  men, 
and  walking  with  them,  not  angry,  in  the 
garden  of  the  earth. 

THE    END. 


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